Du Sundavar Freohr
by Zeratide
Summary: After the Battle of Feinster, a Rider, Zeratide, returns to the fray, prepared to train Eragon to be the strongest Rider to ever walk the Earth, to become Du Sundavar Freohr... The Death of the Shadows. I own nothing. Plenty of violence.
1. Du Wyrdan Shur'tugal

CLANG!

"Come on brother, is that all you've got?" Roran taunted, blocking a slash from Eragon on his shield. Eragon grinned, knowing that if he had hit any harder, he would have crushed the shield. His blade was guarded, but due to his elvish strength, he was really holding back. "You sure you want me to go harder, Roran?" he asked, ducking under a swing from the hammer. "You won't be able to stand for a week." "Bring it on!" he said, swinging his shield at him.

Eragon started a complex series of maneuvers, driving Roran back as he frantically dodged and parried. Eragon caught a gap, maneuvered the blade in, twisted, and sent Roran's hammer flying. A quick flick of the wrist, and Brisingr was resting on Roran's collarbone.

They both stood there panting, then started laughing hysterically. This continued for a minute until Jarsha ran up to them. "Master Shadeslayer, Master Stronghammer, Lady Nasuada requests your presence." Eragon sheathed his sword, and nodded. With a quick line in the Ancient Language, Roran's hammer was in his hand. He tossed it to Roran, and said, "Thank you Jarsha." Jarsha ran off, and the two started towards Nasuada's pavilion.

It was extremely trying to be the Queen of the Varden. She had to never show weakness, always be at the pinnacle of strength, and maneuver around the Council…. She was just glad that she had Eragon and his cousin in the ranks. No one would question such powerful warriors, and as they owed their allegiance only to her, it made her a much more powerful figure. Just as she was thinking this, the two arrived.

"What can we do for you, My Lady?" Roran asked as they both bowed. Nasuada grabbed her papers on her desk. "We have recently been receiving reports from many of our spies that during the nights, many people have been hearing what appeared to be the sound of a faction of soldiers on the march, however, when investigated, no signs whatsoever exist that there was such an occurrence during the night. The soldiers in this area only march during the day, according to our records. Do you think you could shed some light on this subject?" she asked. Just as Eragon opened his mouth to make a reply, a large, pressurized THUD reverberated throughout the entire camp.

Shock instantly registered on Eragon's face. He knew that sound almost as well as he knew himself.

That was the sound of a dragon's wing beats.


	2. Du Wyrdan Skulblaka

Previously…

_Just as Eragon opened his mouth to make a reply, a large, pressurized THUD reverberated throughout the entire camp._

_ Shock instantly registered on Eragon's face. He knew that sound almost as well as he knew himself._

_ That was the sound of a dragon's wing beats._

* * *

_Five miles away…_

As the pair raced at maximum speed toward the camp that was clearly visible to them, the man on the dragon's back suddenly gritted his teeth, and grabbed his arm as it started shaking. His partner glanced back, and said to him, _It's getting slowly worse, isn't it?_ The man slowly stopped shaking, and sighed as he tightened the binding on it. _It always does. If I don't find a cure soon, this thing will slowly destroy my arm. _The dragon whimpered in sympathy. _ Don't worry Ammadden, _the man replied, _I survived the Fall of the Riders. I'm strong enough to get over this._

There was a brief amount of silence, before Ammadden mentally sighed. _That was because Brom was there at the battle to save you from Morzan, Zeratide._

_ I should have been stronger! _he shouted, slamming his mail-backed hand into his thigh. _If I could have just moved faster, than Brom wouldn't have had to stop him, and Saphira wouldn't have died! I failed my Master! __**I**__ should have been the one who died!_

_ Zeratide!_ Ammadden roared, instantly quieting him. _I never want to hear you say that again! If you had died, you would not be able to change the world as you are about to. Do you understand me, boy? _Zeratide was silent. Out loud, he said, "I understand. We're here." He saw a large line or archers, and, in preparation, removed his glove from his right hand, revealing the Gedwey Ignasia.

Just as the arrows were about to fly, a roar resounded throughout the terrain, sending Zeratide spiraling into a world of shock. That was a dragon. How could the Varden have a dragon? **He** was supposed to be the last Rider, besides Galbatorix.

He realized that maybe he had been isolated for longer than he thought.

Eragon stood on the edge of the camp, fully clad in armor. He looked up, and was enraged to see a huge black dragon flying toward the Varden. _So, Galbatorix has come here, eh? It's time to kill that traitorous snake!_ He jumped onto Saphira, and took off as Arya and the other elves arrived at the scene. He felt a light tug on his mind, and surrounded his mind with barriers of his rage at this one man. He had killed Oromis. Now he would face justice.

Zeratide watched in fascination as the sapphire dragon came soaring towards him. He was amazed at her beauty. So bright, so strong…. It was then that he saw the Rider draw his sword. _Why is he about to attack us? _he shouted, grabbing his visor and lowering it. _Think, Zeratide! He most likely thinks he is the only other Rider, and as I'm a black dragon, he may think that I'm Shruikan!_

Just then, they drew level, and Zeratide quickly pulled out his sword just in time to block what surely would have been a death blow, surprisingly from someone who appeared to be only seventeen at the most. He had no choice. He would have to fight the boy.


	3. Du Helgr Kveykva

Previously:

_Just then, they drew level, and Zeratide quickly pulled out his sword just in time to block what surely would have been a death blow, surprisingly from someone who appeared to be only seventeen at the most. He had no choice. He would have to fight the boy._

* * *

Just as he pulled the blade back, the kid sent a reverse blow at him as the dragon flew past. The blow caught the edge of his chain mail, and ripped off his hauberk. Zeratide swore, and then ripped his helm off. He was just glad that he had managed to concentrate long enough to weaken the back of the hauberk with magic so he wasn't ripped off of Ammadden. He had to admit, though, the kid was good. Very few Riders had managed to pull off a backhand on a moving dragon at the speeds they were traveling at. His white hair whipped around as the wind blasted him. They turned around, and flew at the kid again. As they got close, both dragons slowed down, and the Riders managed to exchange a fast flurry of blows before being separated again.

Zeratide felt the kid tug at his mind, and instantly jabbed back at him with his mind. He came across powerful barriers created by the boy's hatred at one man: Galbatorix. This kid most likely lost everything to the Tyrant King, and believed he was about to get payback. However, neither one of them would get too far with this form of combat. Zeratide sighed, knowing where they had to fight. "Ammadden!" he shouted over the wind. "Take us down. I'll be able to hold out better on the ground." Ammadden seemed to nod, and they started to lower altitude. The other Rider and his dragon seemed to follow suit, and they lowered as well.

Both spiraled to the ground, the two meeting occasionally to allow a fury of blows. The dragons themselves started fighting, biting, lunging, and scratching at each other. They finally made it to the ground, and both Riders leaped off, as the dragons leapt to opposite sides of the clearing. Zeratide was drenched in sweat, his single-edge blade leaden in his hand. His hair clung to him, framing his face. The mask he had on to cover his identity in case of discovery was itching like crazy, but he did not peel it off.

The other Rider was panting as well, his bright blue sword held lightly in his grip. As he turned the sword, Zeratide could see the symbol Brisingr on the blade, and he almost laughed at the simplicity of it. However, he was cautious. Fire was a dangerous element, and he had been burned before. The kid looked ready to collapse.

Zeratide knew he had to get rid of his armor, or he might collapse from exhaustion. So, to get the kid to trust him, he took of his greaves and braces, and tossed them on the ground. The kid looked at him as though he was crazy, and then proceeded to remove his own armor. Zeratide stared at him in amazement. The kid looked just like Brom. As soon as his armor was off, the kid charged at him.

Eragon charged at the man he now knew was not Galbatorix. Most likely, the Tyrant had finally hatched the final egg, and had used almost all the power he could muster to make it grow to this size. The unknown Rider was unique, he had to give him that much. He had never seen a blade like his before, nor his style of fighting. As he slashed, the man blocked his attacks with the spine of the sword, allowing the cutting edge to be easily slid down Brisingr and gut him. However, the man never seemed to use that advantage. And when the man attacked, his sword seemed to float around his body.

When Eragon ducked under an attack, the man's sword, instead of whipping around his back, was released from the man's grasp, and caught backhanded, resulting in a fast slash that Eragon did not see coming.

The attack was about to remove his head from his shoulders when the man stopped it an inch from his neck. Eragon looked at him in surprise as his body moved on its own, Brisingr coming forward, the point touching the man's side, slowly entering his body, mutilating him, destroying him. Blood shot out of the man's mouth as his eyes widened, and his dragon roared in pain. The man managed to work out the words, "Eka aí fricai un Shur'tugal." He then collapsed, blood flowing from his side.

Eragon wasted no time, quickly healing his wounds and sending a flow of energy into his body to maintain him until he could get him to a healer. His dragon was still alive and conscious, so that was a good sign, but he didn't know how long the man could survive from that amount of blood loss. As he lifted the man onto Saphira, his hair fell back, revealing his pointed ears. Eragon's blood went cold. The last Elven Rider hadn't been born since a long time before the Fall. He had possibly just killed the last Rider to survive the Fall.


	4. Draumr Vollar

Previously:

_Eragon wasted no time, quickly healing his wounds and sending a flow of energy into his body to maintain him until he could get him to a healer. His dragon was still alive and conscious, so that was a good sign, but he didn't know how long the man could survive from that amount of blood loss. As he lifted the man onto Saphira, his hair fell back, revealing his pointed hair. Eragon's blood went cold. The last Elven Rider hadn't been born since a long time before the Fall. He had possibly just killed the last Rider to survive the Fall._

* * *

About ten minutes later, Eragon and Saphira touched down at the healer's tent. They quickly carried the man onto a cot, and yelled, "We need a healer! Now!" One of Eragon's Elven bodyguards ran forward, and quickly tore his shirt and mask off. What happened next, Eragon had never seen before, and never thought he would see.

The woman took one look at the man, and fainted.

Eragon swore, and started drawing on energy from the multiple life forms in the area. Making sure they were strong enough, Eragon set about healing the man. After what seemed like hours, he finally finished healing him. He was about ready to collapse. He had thrown in his own energy with the spell, and several of the rodents who had fueled the spells had died, leaving him shaken. The Elven woman had woken back up, and was staring at the man. Eragon decided to head back to his tent, and get some sleep.

* * *

_He was staring at the ceiling during his night visions, when his entire field of vision turned white, and he found himself standing in what appeared to be nothingness. He looked around, and saw a hooded figure standing roughly twenty feet away from him, seemingly calculating him. Eragon stepped forward hesitantly and the figure beckoned him closer. "Who are you?" he asked. The figure lowered his hood, revealing the Rider. "That is a long story, but first, my name is Zeratide." he said. "Are you ready to hear my story?" "I am. And also, I am so sorry for what I did. I just…." Zeratide raised his hand. "Peace, young one. You have trained in the art of warfare for I don't know how long, and your reflexes took over."_

_ "And, before I tell my story, I must ask you, who was the woman who removed my mask in the healer's tent?" Eragon looked at him with confusion on his face. "One of my guards," he replied. "What is her name?" Zeratide asked, his face anxious. "Her name? Um… Aelana. Why?" Zeratide smiled, and looked as though he was about to burst into tears. "Because I must thank you. I've finally been reunited with my mate."_


	5. A Rider's Life

_Eragon was speechless. "Your mate is Aelana?" he asked, face clearly showing disbelief. "Just how old is she?" "She would be about a hundred and fifty, I'd say," was the reply. Eragon sighed. "Alright," he said, "I'll listen to what you have to say. But if I don't trust what you say, I swear I will kill you." Zeratide grinned. "Well, I guess I'll have to do a good job with my history, eh?"_

_ The scenery changed, to one of a place far north. The ground was covered with snow. A young Zeratide trudged through the snow, carrying a large load of wood on his back. He arrived at the place that was likely his home, as he entered the building. It seemed as though the place was familiar to Zeratide, until he realized that he was seeing Carvahall over a hundred years ago. "I grew up in a place you may not know, a village far to the north named Carvahall." "I myself grew up in Carvahall," Eragon replied. Zeratide's grin widened. "I was not born in an Elven village, but at the time, Elves and humans lived together, so I grew up in an Elven family that farmed for a living. Due to my natural strength and speed, I had a lot of free time, so I learned how to be a smith."_

_ Eragon saw Zeratide in an open shop, smashing metal against an anvil. He was extremely quick, making tools and armor and weapons in minutes, with a little magic, of course. He had an intense, focused look on his work, and as years of memories went by, Eragon could see his body getting more and more muscled, his skin toned and tanned from days by the forge and under the sun._

_ "This went on for twenty years, until the Riders came to Carvahall. As was their habit, they brought a few eggs, and had the citizens line up and touch them. I was too old by normal standards, however, due to the fact that Carvahall was rarely visited, they made an exception. Vrael himself was there when I touched the eggs and he witnessed Ammadden hatch for me. He took me to Vroengard, and looked for a Master to assign me to. A rider named Brom had become a Master a short while before, and volunteered." Eragon froze, his eyes widened in shock. "Brom taught you?" he asked. "Yes. You know of Brom?" Eragon scoffed. "Know of him? Brom was my father!"_

_ It was Zeratide's turn to be shocked, and his eyes displayed many emotions. Surprise, happiness, envy… they all were there. "Your father was a good man. I take it he died?" Eragon only nodded. A single tear fell from Zeratide's eye. "The one bad thing about being a Rider is the fact that our bonds are more powerful than any bonds anywhere else, and when they are cut… nothing can ease the pain…_.

_Zeratide and Eragon stood side by side as a much younger Zeratide stood before the Rider's Council, with Brom at his side. Brom was so young… he hadn't even grown a beard yet, and Eragon was amazed at how much he looked like his father used to…. The Council gave Zeratide and Brom multiple vows in the ancient language. The bonds that Zeratide spoke of were being tied right in front of them, becoming stronger with every word. "I was thirty when this happened, and it was a hundred and thirty years ago. Brom was at least fifty at the time, which was still young for a Rider."_

_ Another flash and they were standing on a large field, with Zeratide and Brom training with wooden swords, throwing in magic here and there, as Zeratide could already use it. They were fast, much faster than any fight Eragon had ever seen. Flipping, sliding, spinning, it all seemed practiced, planned, graceful. Zeratide's fighting style was the same as it would be more than a hundred years in the future. Brom had an impressed look on his face, as the two weaved back and forth, trying to land a hit on each other._

_ With another flash of light, they were standing on a cliff, and Zeratide climbed onto Ammadden for the first time. They looked over the edge, and Zeratide grinned. Ammadden jumped, and they went flying through the air. Zeratide let out an excited yell, and raised his head back, laughing wildly. He let out a howl, and leapt off Ammadden. Brom yelled out in shock, before Ammadden caught him gracefully. "Even after such a short amount of time with my partner, we had a bond the likes of which no one else had. We literally knew what the other was going to do before they did themselves." Brom laughed as he watched the complex maneuvers the two performed._

_ Brom and Zeratide stood side by side on a large battlefield, observing a huge force of Urgals charging toward the village they were guarding. Brom drew Undbitr, and Zeratide mimicked the move, drawing the apprentice's sword he had been issued. The two looked at each other, and nodded, a grim look on their faces. They charged down the field, their dragons chasing after them. "During the days of my training, I went through many such battles. As you can see, Brom and I are the only people defending this entire village. After this battle, not one Urgal was alive on this field. Brom and I were excellent strategists, and extremely advanced in swordplay."_

_ Next was an image of Zeratide standing before the council, sword drawn, blindfolded as they circled him. Brom stood off on a balcony above, observing. Council members leapt forward, slashing at Zeratide as he blocked, spun, rolled. Vrael stepped forward and they all fell back to the edge of the field. Zeratide grinned, and slowly advanced. Vrael made a motion with his hand and the blindfold went flying off his face. "In the Rider's order, one managed to become a full-fledged Rider when they managed to take on the Council's challenge. You would face the Council blindfolded, and would prevent them from hitting you with an attack. It sounded easy, but you must remember that these were the best of all the Riders. And if the Leader got involved, then you were definitely in for a challenge. However, this was a great complement. It showed that you were among the greatest of the Riders, so great, that even the Leader had to acknowledge you." "Did this happen often?" Eragon asked. "In the entire history of the Riders, it has only happened four times, and every time it happened, that Rider would eventually become the next Leader of the Riders."_

_ Brom stared at the two in shock, and then a wide grin split his face. Zeratide and Vrael were going at it like there was no tomorrow. It had been obvious that the Council had held back, as they always did. No Rider other than the Leader himself could take on the entire Council alone. However, Vrael never held back. Move for move, the two were a perfect match. Vrael had developed his own fighting style over the years and he had never yet met a match for it. But Zeratide's unique method was quickly putting his to the test, the kind he had never felt before. The two looked thrilled, laughing, slashing, flipping…. Zeratide performed a particularly complex move and Vrael's sword went flying._

_ Silence permeated the air. Vrael had never before been bested in direct swordplay, without magic or dirty tricks. Vrael and Zeratide stood panting, as Zeratide slowly brought the guarded tip of his sword to Vrael's collar bone. Vrael nodded, and gently pushed aside the blade. "My partner Eridor and I have reached an agreement. You have graduated from the Ranks of Rider Apprentice, to Rider. If you agree, you will graduate from Rider to Leader Apprentice. This would mean that in a few decades, you will become the Leader of the Riders." The Council broke into a flurry of rage, except for Oromis. "SILENCE!" Vrael roared, and it instantly happened. He turned back to Zeratide. "Do you wish to become my Apprentice?" Zeratide glanced up towards Brom, who nodded. Zeratide looked back at Vrael, an exhausted look on his face. He nodded, and collapsed. Vrael grinned. Oh, he was going to have fun with this one._


	6. A Rider's Life Part II

_Previously..._

"My partner Eridor and I have reached an agreement. You have graduated from the Ranks of Rider Apprentice, to Rider. If you agree, you will graduate from Rider to Leader Apprentice. This would mean that in a few decades, you will become the Leader of the Riders." The Council broke into a flurry of rage, except for Oromis. "SILENCE!" Vrael roared, and it instantly happened. He turned back to Zeratide. "Do you wish to become my Apprentice?" Zeratide glanced up towards Brom, who nodded. Zeratide looked back at Vrael, an exhausted look on his face. He nodded, and collapsed. Vrael grinned. Oh, he was going to have fun with this one.

* * *

_Zeratide sat up, staring at the ceiling of what he could assume was his new home. He could sense Ammadden sleeping a ways away, and when he pushed aside the canvas that served as his window, he saw that he was in Ellesméra. Eragon and the present day Zeratide both knew that it was Vrael's quarters, the very tree that Eragon would live in some hundred and twenty years ago. The Zeratide from the past took in a deep breath through his nose, tasting all the scents that permeated the air. Eragon could also smell it. The city of Ellesméra was full of life, even at this hour, and thousands of beautiful scents permeated the air. Zeratide's eyes gleamed, and, grabbing his sword, jumped out the window, landing lightly some hundred feet below. "Looks like my training came in handy," he said out loud. Far to the left was the Menoa tree, and much singing could be heard, most likely celebrating the return of Vrael._

_ He silently walked the path that he assumed was the way to the Menoa, and stood in the shadows as he saw Vrael talk to a bunch of children, grinning and laughing and playing with them. Zeratide looked on, and as he was about to walk forward, noticed a solitary woman slowly sneak into the shadows, looking cautiously around her before she ran. A man sidled over to where she was, and chased after her. Zeratide felt something deep in the pit of his stomach, and chased after them._

_ "LEAVE ME ALONE!" he heard her scream, but no one but him heard her, apparently. "Ah, come on, babe, just once!" "NO! LEAVE ME BE!" Zeratide heard her slap the unknown man, and then he heard a ripping noise. His eyes widened, and he shot forward into the clearing. He could see a woman lying on the ground, her sleeve and skirt ripped, and crying. An Elven male was standing over her, a sword strapped to his waist, and his eyes filled with a demonic lust. Zeratide drew his training blade with a steely rasp, and the man whipped around, drawing his own. The woman looked up hopefully, and slowly crawled to the edge of the clearing._

_ "What are you doing?" Zeratide asked, standing calmly. "What do you care? And who the hell are you anyway?" Zeratide shook his head, grinning. In the light of the moon, his hair seemed to gleam as if it were on fire. A gentle breeze started, and, pouring a small amount of energy into it, Zeratide made it swirl around him, a technique Brom taught him to make him look more intimidating. "I am Rider Zeratide, Apprentice of Vrael, and the future Leader of the Riders!" The other man laughed an insane laugh, and leapt forward, slashing at his neck. Zeratide seemed to disappear, until he stood on the other side of the man, sword pressed to his neck. "Not even you can defeat me, boy! I am __Daeon, and I cannot lose to anyone! Brisingr!" Zeratide's arm erupted into flames, and he leapt back, gritting his teeth in pain. "Adurna!" he yelled, and water shot out of the ground to put out the flames, leaving him with burns crossing his entire arm, seeming to frame his muscles. Zeratide grinned, and looked up at Daeon. He could feel the energy building up, and now was the time to release it. One word crossed his lips: "Kveykva!"_

* * *

_E__ragon and Zeratide once again stood in the white field that was their mind. "I must go now, and regain my strength. Come find me in the healer's tent…" "Wait!" Eragon called, "What happened next? Zeratide!" The field slowly vanished, and his ceiling crossed his field of vision again._

* * *

Eragon took a deep, gasping breath, and jerked up, shaking. He could sense Saphira asleep just outside his tent, deep in dreams. "Eragon!" he heard someone yell, and he jerked to the side, pulling out his hunting knife. His arm relaxed when he saw that it was Arya. "What?" he asked, wondering why she was here. "I came to speak to you, because after your little bout, you seemed to be depressed. I came here and found you lying on your bed, not breathing, your eyes rolling back into your skull. I thought you were dying," she said, a slight hint of fear in her voice. Eragon looked surprised to see that her eyes seemed to be glistening, as if she was about to cry. "I'm alright; I was just talking to Zeratide."

The moment the name left his lips, Arya froze, fear finally crossing her features. "What?" she asked. "What did you just say?" "I said that I was talking to Zeratide." "Eragon do you know who he is?" she yelled, fear and joy both present in her voice. "He was one of the most legendary Riders of his time! Not even Vrael could deny his power!" "What can you tell me about him?" Eragon asked, hoping she could tell him what had happened. "He really started gaining fame after he became Vrael's Apprentice, prepared to take his place as the Leader of the Riders. About a year after, he became known as Du Helgr Kveykva, the Sacred Lightning." "Why was he called that?" Eragon asked.

"A year after Zeratide started his Leadership Apprenticeship, a huge battle erupted, with a large number of bandits and rogues joining together to try and rob a large number of cities. They were very powerful, as many of them were capable of using magic, so many of the Riders feared that they would not be able to beat them without losing their comrades." "How many of them were there?" Eragon asked, hanging onto her every word like a child listening to the tales of the old ones. "Well over ten thousand," she said, shaking her head at his nonstop curiosity.

"Anyways, Vrael sent only Zeratide to combat them, to advance his training. Many of the Riders balked at the prospect of facing ten thousand warriors alone, but all Zeratide said was, 'Yes, my Master.'" Eragon was amazed at the lack of fear that Zeratide had seemingly displayed, and realized just how much he had been holding back during their bout. "So?" he asked. Arya grinned, shaking her head. "He stood alone before the thousands. As part of his training, he was not allowed to receive help from Ammadden."

Eragon was furious. How could anyone deny a Rider the right to be with his dragon? It would be like telling him he could no longer use his arm when he was the hunter, using his bow to provide food for his family. Arya's voice brought him back from his daze. "The enemy charged, and, lifting his arm, yelled out Kveykva. The skies were storming, and when he yelled out, lightning shot from the sky. It obliterated half of the army, and the other half he cut down, with lightning encircling his sword as well. When he attacked something with his lightning-enhanced sword, it would slice through anything, including other steel swords." "But what made him the **Sacred** Lightning?" Eragon asked. "It was because some of the weapons he used were given to him by monks."

"So let me see if I got this right," Eragon said. "You're saying that Zeratide is basically this super-powerful Lightning Warrior who is pretty much blessed by a monk?" Arya just nodded. "This is the guy who will help us finally defeat Galbatorix…." Eragon realized. "We now have hope."


	7. Analysis: Strategist, or Madman?

_Previously:_

"_This is the guy who will help us finally defeat Galbatorix…." Eragon realized. "We now have hope."_

* * *

Eragon sat on his cot for what seemed like hours, contemplating what he had seen. Zeratide had shown him a world that he had only ever seen in his dreams, and he had showed him some of his father's past. Eragon wondered what had happened after Zeratide's arm caught fire, and wondered if he had some of the problems that Oromis had had. After all, that must have hurt like hell, having your skin just catch fire, incinerating nerves, melting muscle… he shuddered at the thought. And even worse, it had been magical fire, and if he knew anything about fire like that, which, he obviously did, it would have hurt even more.

He then wondered about Aelana, and what exactly had been going on in that situation. It had appeared that she had been about to be raped, and that Zeratide had come and saved her. The man who had took her seemed to be highly skilled, and yet… somehow Zeratide had managed to sneak up, and, if his assumptions were correct from what he could deduce from the fact that the two elves were still alive, Zeratide had even managed to beat him, probably kill him with the lightning element.

Before he knew it, it was dawn, and the Varden was in preparation for leaving Feinster. He could hear the clanging of metal being thrown together, and started to clean his armor. He was having trouble getting much of the rust from various blood stains out, and after trying on one particular spot for almost fifteen minutes, he just gave up. Just as he tossed it onto a pile of clothes, he thought he heard a soft thump. He looked at the armor, and decided that that wouldn't make a thump quite like that. "Blodhgarm?" he called, wondering if the sound came from his guards. There was no response.

He slowly drew Brisingr from his sheath, and stood facing the flap to the tent. He heard a rasping sound, and before he could move, found a small blade pressed against his neck. He froze, and reached out to the magic inside him. "That's not necessary," a voice said, and Eragon's eyes widened when he realized it was Zeratide's. The blade was lowered, and when he turned around, Zeratide was gone, with only a scroll where he was standing. Eragon slowly opened it, and read what it said.

_"In the Rider's Order of Old, we were trained to always expect a surprise attack. I found out that the way you do that is by having your mind analyze every form of life within a mile radius. However, you must be prepared to use other methods, for, as I'm sure you found out, there are plenty of things out there that can hide their mind from any seeking touch. When I went through the Leader's Apprenticeship, what just occurred to you occurred with me everyday, at different times, and different places. Meet me on top of the highest tower in Feinster. Do not have Saphira bring you to the top, and do not use the stairs. Also, untie your guards._

_-Zeratide._

Eragon grabbed his gear, and walked out behind his tent. He found eleven of his guards tied up, and he took a guess at where Aelana was.

* * *

Zeratide couldn't help but laugh as he watched Eragon standing at the bottom of the tower, trying in vain to find a way up, without breaking the rules. He was going to have a fun time training Eragon, much like when Vrael was training him. He still remembered the hours of grueling physical training, and when Vrael had dismissed him from training, he went off to train by himself. It had taken him a few months to successfully do what the purpose of this training was to do: free-climb to the top of such a high structure. Eragon suddenly seemed to understand that, as he ran towards the structure, jumped up, and slowly started climbing. Zeratide could tell that he was good at climbing from the way he surveyed his area, but it was obvious he had never attempted to climb a building, as he passed many holds, such as a half-missing brick, a window ledge and inch wide, and so on.

He turned back to Aelana, and just stared at her. It had been a hundred years since his eyes had seen her beauty, and yet little of her features revealed that span of years. He sat down next to her, leaning against the parapets. He leaned over towards her, and gently pressed his forehead against hers, gently inhaling, taking in her scent, a beautiful combination of pine sap, hay, and the fresh scent that comes after rain. It may have seemed a strange combination to some, but to him, it was a scent he was completely and utterly addicted to. He looked deep into her deep, azure eyes, and remembered the day that they had agreed upon the one choice that was eternal. The day they had taken each other as mates.

They sat there for a few minutes, before Eragon finally reached the top of the tower, sweating and cursing. He stared at Zeratide, and then collapsed. "You're still alive, right?" Zeratide asked, grinning. He heard Eragon mutter a string of impressive curses, and allowed him a moment to collect his breath. When Eragon stood, Zeratide stood as well, and slowly walked around him, looking him over. "Raise your arms." Eragon did so, and Zeratide looked them over. "Muscular, but not thick… even stronger with your apparent transformation… I suppose the dragons did that to you?" Zeratide asked. Eragon nodded. "Your hands are rough, but that would most likely result in being raised in Carvahall," he said, chuckling. "You stand tall and proud, as we all are taught to in our home… you seem to have strong legs, which is good as a Rider… in complex maneuvers, you would need to grip your dragon with your legs… and I took a complete inventory of your gear, and found your saddles… draw your sword." Eragon did so, and took a fighting stance. "Show me some of what you were taught by the old man." Eragon grinned, and went through some of the attacks and blocks that Brom had taught him, and Zeratide observed every movement he made.

"Alright, I've seen what you can do for swordplay," Zeratide said. "You're good, but you need some refinement, as everybody does. I myself am still refining my style. Now, I am going to train you to know everything you'll need to beat Galbatorix. But it will take time, and time is not something we have. So, this will require some… persuasion. Meet me at Nasuada's pavilion." He walked to the edge of the tower, and leapt off. Eragon saw Ammadden suddenly appear out of nowhere, and swoop down. A few seconds later, he shot back up, and flew off with Zeratide on his back.

* * *

Half an hour later, Zeratide and Eragon walked into Nasuada's pavilion. She stood up, and observed Zeratide, who stood perfectly still. She nodded, and asked, "Why are you here?" Zeratide bowed, and said, with all due respect, My Lady, you play a very small part in my plan. However, I wish you to grant permission for my plan, as it may be the only hope of defeating the King. For one year, I shall train Eragon. I shall train him to be a climber, in order to infiltrate the enemy's headquarters. I will train him to be an assassin, to take out the Empire's greatest supporters. I will train him to be a thief, in order to steal documents needed to beat the Empire, in order to steal the Eldunarya and the last egg." Nasuada thought for a moment, and said, "We do not have a year to spare. If we do not have Eragon for the battles ahead, we will lose all the ground we have gained." Zeratide grinned. "And that's where the second part of my plan kicks in. I will summon Galbatorix, and negotiate a temporary cease-fire."


	8. Secrets Revealed

_Previously…_

_Nasuada thought for a moment, and said, "We do not have a year to spare. If we do not have Eragon for the battles ahead, we will lose all the ground we have gained." Zeratide grinned. "And that's where the second part of my plan kicks in. I will summon Galbatorix, and negotiate a temporary cease-fire."_

* * *

Eragon gaped at Zeratide, and Nasuada completely froze. Zeratide looked at the two of them, drew up his hood, and started saying a few words in the Ancient Language. In a giant flash of light, Galbatorix stood before them, sword drawn, and surprise in his eyes. He looked around, and seeing Eragon and Zeratide shouted, "YOU!" he charged at them, and, raising his sword, prepared to strike.

"LETTA!" Zeratide barked out, and everyone in the room froze, Nasuada drawing her dagger, Eragon's palm glowing, Galbatorix bringing his sword down, and the Nighthawks and Elven guards charging into the tent. Galbatorix glared at Zeratide, and grit his teeth, trying to find a way to counter Zeratide's spell. Finding none, he let his muscles fall slack, the spell keeping him in place. "Now," Zeratide said, "we are all just going to sit down, be civil, and negotiate a cease-fire for a year's time. Can we all agree to this?" After a chorus of grumbles yeses, Zeratide released the spell, and took a seat.

"Now then, Nasuada, can you please bring your side of the negotiations to the table?" Zeratide said, tossing his sword onto the table they were seated around. The others did the same, albeit reluctantly. "Very well," Nasuada said crisply. "Galbatorix, for almost seventy years now, the Varden have fought the Empire. Throughout this time, both sides have lost thousands of brave warriors, however, neither of us now have the means to keep fighting for much longer. So, I wish to request a year's time to allow us both to build our forces, and raise enough money to continue to be able to at least fund this effort. You and I both know that if we cannot pay, then our suppliers will refuse to arm us, and then this will have been entirely in vain. For both of us."

Zeratide nodded, writing her words as she said them. Galbatorix gave her a calculating look, and cleared his throat. "Tell me, why should I care about this? I myself am powerful enough so that I can keep fighting, even without soldiers. There is almost nothing you can really do about this war. You have been trying for seventy years, and you are no closer to victory than you were before." Zeratide raised his head. "Galbatorix, do you know who I am?" he asked, surprise in his voice. Galbatorix looked at him with narrowed eyes, and stroked his beard, thinking. "I cannot say that I do. And why should I? I am the King; I do not have the time nor the need to learn all the names of my subjects." Zeratide's eyes flashed dangerously, and he reached for his sleeve. Galbatorix eyed him, and slowly reached out for his sword.

Zeratide ripped his sleeve off, showing his burn-covered arm. However, something else was present on it. Dark letters in Gramarye were carved into his skin. Galbatorix's eyes widened, and Zeratide showed him the Gedwey Ignasia on his palm. "Du Helgr Kveykva…" Galbatorix whispered, fear present in his voice. "But… Kialandi and Morzan killed you!" Zeratide grinned, lowered his hood, and shook his head. "If there is one thing you should have learned by now, Galbatorix, it's that we Riders are capable of hiding ourselves from anyone. Me, even more so, as you know that I was under the Leader's Apprenticeship. I'm very hard to kill." Galbatorix grimaced, and started contemplating his options. Zeratide also grimaced as he felt his arm twinge, and as everyone watched, the runes got darker. Galbatorix grinned at this, and started laughing.

"So, you were cursed, eh? I guess you're not as powerful as you thought." In the blink of an eye, a small slash split across Galbatorix's cheek. Galbatorix jumped back, cursing. The only sign Zeratide had moved was a small twitch of his finger. There was a quiet click, and his hidden blade disappeared again. "I am faster than you could ever imagine. I am armed and dangerous at all times, even if I am only with my hands. I nearly killed three of your Thirteen before they escaped, and I cast the illusion on them of my death. Do not underestimate me like you underestimated Brom, or have you forgotten what came of that?" he yelled, fury obvious in every aspect of his voice. "Now listen well: the Varden and the Empire will be on an arms-buildup ceasefire for one year. In a year's time, we shall meet at the Gates of Hell." In another flash of light, Galbatorix was gone. Zeratide sighed, and slowly stood up, his body depleted from magic.

"ARE YOU INSANE?" Nasuada screamed. "You could have killed us all!" Zeratide just walked out, and jumped onto Ammadden. The two took off, and Eragon glanced at Nasuada. She sat back down, growling and cursing, while he just decided to leave. _Where are you going, little one? _he heard Saphira ask. He looked up to see the dark form of Ammadden following the shoreline, heading towards some cliffs. _"I go to the teeth of the sea,"_ he replied, running towards the cliffs.

* * *

As Ammadden landed on the cliffs and curled into a ball, Zeratide took in the fresh scent of the sea, breathing deeply, letting the cool air refresh his mind. He slowly climbed his way down to the spray, and settled down on a large, moss covered outcropping that stuck out about a hundred yards above the crashing waves. The spray gently splashed his face even this high up, and he felt his usual sense of calm near the sea. _Relax. Focus your mind. Breathe deeply, and release your emotions. You can't live in fear. For one hundred years, you have lived, prepared to fight, prepared to draw blood, and prepared to die. You can't live in fear… you can't live in fear… YOU CAN'T LIVE IN FEAR!_ His eyes shot open, and he leapt to the rocks below, hearing a voice bellowing his name. His arm burned, and he saw the rocks quickly coming upon him. He dived into the pool of energy in his mind, and felt Ammadden pour in his energy. He released all the energy he built up, and the mist surrounded him, obscuring him from view. There was a loud crunch, and then silence.

* * *

Eragon saw Zeratide and Ammadden land, and Zeratide step off of him. He watched in awe as Zeratide easily climbed down the cliff, and sat himself on a ledge in the rock. He thought he could feel Zeratide brush past his mind as he was apparently meditating. He walked over to Ammadden, and asked, "What is he doing?" Ammadden lazily opened one eye, and said, _I believe he's meditating on his mantra. After that, he usually jumps off of something._ Eragon ran to the edge of the cliff in time to see Zeratide leap from the ledge. "Zeratide!" he bellowed, reaching for his energy. He saw the mist surround the man, and heard a sickening crunch. He stared in horror at the mist, until it cleared, and Zeratide shot into the air, blasting the cliff. As the rocks fell, he leapt from rock to rock, flipping, pushing off with his hands while keeping his legs up, and finally vaulting himself over the edge of the cliff as the rocks landed with a loud splash.

* * *

Zeratide kneeled on the cool rock, panting lightly, and pushed his wet bangs out of his eyes. He saw Eragon standing there, looking amazed, and just grinned, while reveling in the feeling of his physical exertion. After a moment, Eragon seemed to find his voice. "Alright," he said, "First off, you're insane. Who jumps off a cliff and does all that? Second, that was incredible!" Eragon still looked amazed, and Zeratide just laughed. "By the time I'm done training you, you will be able to do almost all of those moves." Eragon stared at him, and grinned. _What do you think, Saphira?_ he asked. _This could be good for you. Allow you to get back into shape, _she teased. Zeratide adjusted his cloak, and leapt back onto Ammadden. "I expect you to be at the foot of the tower you climbed tomorrow morning. We will make sure" _that you can use the techniques created by the Leaders, known as Parkour techniques, _"and we will also make sure you climb until you can climb that tower in your sleep." Eragon blinked at the tandem speaking, and nodded. Ammadden took off, headed for a nearby mountain.

* * *

Arya was walking through the tents in the Varden, trying to clear her mind. She had heard about the negotiation of the cease-fire, if you could call it negotiations. She was a little surprised. Almost all her life, she had been fighting the Empire, and now she had almost nothing to do for an entire year. Sure, she could train herself in the sword, bow, and further her magic reserves and power, but to do so for an entire year? She actually balked at the prospect of doing that nonstop. Even she needed to talk to other people, needed to do other things to distract herself. She looked up, and found herself in front of Zeratide's tent. She knocked on a post situated next to the door, and heard Aelana say, "Enter." Arya walked in, and was surprised at what she saw.

Aelana was standing there in a beautiful dress that reminded her of a beautiful sunset. She looked happier than Arya had ever seen her, although that was rather obvious. After a hundred years, her mate had finally returned to her. Arya smiled. "Arya! What can I do for you?" Aelana beamed. "I was wondering if I could possibly speak to Zeratide?" she asked, not really sure why. She just had a feeling she was supposed to… and her feelings had rarely let her down. She heard a loud thud, and knew Ammadden had landed near the tent. She and Aelana walked outside, and they watched as Zeratide leapt off of Ammadden, his hair drenched. He gently kissed Aelana, and touched his forehead to hers. "You jumped off another cliff, didn't you?" she asked, chuckling. He laughed with her, and turned to Arya. "What can I do for you, Arya?" he asked. She stood there for a moment, and said, "I don't know. Something tells me there is something that I need to know about you, but I don't know what it is." Zeratide's smile fell from his face, along with Aelana's. "I'll handle this," he said, and she nodded before going back into the tent.

"Sit down, Arya." She did so, and he sighed. "Alright, what I am about to tell you has to remain a secret. No one can know about this, not even Islanzadi. Do you understand me?" he asked. She nodded, slightly scared. "Alright. Where to begin… about a hundred and twenty years ago, I met Aelana when I rescued her from a drunken elf named Daeon. We started our relationship when I returned to Ellesméra a few months later. We became Mates a hundred and eleven years ago. About ten years later, I and a friend of mine found out that we were both going to be fathers." Arya smiled. "Do not smile at this: it is not a happy story. By this time, Galbatorix and Morzan had both left the Order, with me having taken part of Morzan's finger. So we both knew that we were going to war. While we were on the battlefield, our mates gave birth to two beautiful girls. However, his daughter was fragile, and died while his mate was asleep. He died on the battlefield.

"Vrael, Aelana and I discussed what was to become of my friend's mate. Having lost both her mate and child, both of which she knew nothing about yet, would have destroyed her, and so did we reluctantly come up with a ruse to ensure her sanity. There was a reason for this, and I am about to get to it. Aelana and I had to give up our daughter, and tell her that our child had died." A solitary tear fell down Arya's cheek. "Who was she?" she asked. Zeratide looked her dead in the eye, pain obvious in every feature of his face. "Her name was Islanzadi, and her mate was Evander. You are my daughter, Arya."


	9. Song of the Soul

Yo! I'm back, and I'm so sorry for the wait! I haven't got any suggestions for songs yet, so I'm going to throw some in here and there, but I still want you guys to send me anything so long as it doesn't break the rules I mentioned before. So, for a brief summary of what has happened so far in the story;

Eragon nearly killed Arya's real father whose name is Zeratide who is a Rider from the original order, and was Brom's then Vrael's apprentice. Zeratide negotiated a cease-fire between the Varden and the Empire for one year, so he would have enough time to train Eragon. After this, Zeratide jumped off a cliff, performed some Parkour, and told Arya that he is her father. And now, on with the show…

* * *

_Previously…_

_Zeratide looked her dead in the eye, pain obvious in every feature of his face. "Her name was Islanzadi, and her mate was Evander. You are my daughter, Arya."_

* * *

Arya, for the first time in her life, stood flabbergasted. "W-what?" she said, her voice shaking. "You are my daughter," Zeratide answered, reaching out to touch her shoulder. She recoiled from him as if he was a snake, and ran off towards the city. Zeratide watched her go, a solitary tear gliding down his face. He got, up, and discreetly followed her. He had a feeling that when in times of emotional turbulence, she would be just like her mother, and he wished to minimize casualties…

* * *

Eragon jerked up to the edge of his cot, panting as if he had climbed that damned tower a thousand times. Another of his visions had appeared before him. There were few actual images this time, merely a black sword, a flash of lightning, a spurt of blood. What scared him was the _sensation _he had felt. He could smell the blood, feel the burning sting of the lightning, and screamed as the sword ripped him in two. His hands shaking, he put on his cloak, brushed off his pants, and walked outside, trying to put his mind at ease. The air was far too hot, causing his torso to be covered in a thin layer of sweat. He looked himself over, and decided that he needed a bath. He walked down to a stream, and followed the resounding noise of a waterfall. He would be able to clear his mind in the soothing waters.

* * *

Arya ducked behind a boulder, trying again to shake off the man she knew she must face. She was hyperventilating, and she couldn't see for the tears on her face. Her emotions were a verbal maelstrom, a storm she had so long kept locked away, a storm that had finally been released by a man she had never even known… would her life have been different, she wondered. If he had been there for her, would she have been able to save Faolin? Would she ever have even met him? So many paths she had taken in life, they all now seemed to have been a dead end, taking her to, and causing her to do, things that would haunt her dreams forever. She could still see the face of everything she had ever killed, could still hear their cries, and could still feel their blood lightly splashing against her skin…. She looked at her hands to see that her fingernails had cut into her palms to distract her from the pain she was feeling in her heart.

She wondered if it was the same for him.

She heard the rumble of a waterfall, and decided that a cool bath was just what she needed to ease her mind.

* * *

Eragon finally reached the waterfall, and, stripping himself of his clothing, walked to the center of the onslaught, letting the force relax his sore muscles, the roar of the water pounding his ears. He pondered everything that Zeratide had told him, and he slowly forgot the vision, opting for the much more relaxing present. He knew that sooner or later the past and future would collide again, and until then, he could not dwell on it without losing the present. Two and a half years… that was how long he had been a Rider. He couldn't believe that less than three years ago, he had been a simple farm boy, working with his cousin and uncle. And now, he was a killer, someone who must fight to survive; he was a magician, a man who learned to kill him enemies with a single word, offering no chance for survival; he was a fortune-teller, for want of a better word. He sighed, and lowered himself further into the water. He finally decided to ponder the issue that caused him the most unrest.

Arya.

She haunted his dreams, taunting him with unrequited love. He so desperately wanted her to allow him to love her, and yet, he could not bring down the iron walls surrounding her heart. He had weakened them, had convinced her to show her emotions, but she still hid for the most part. He wondered if Zeratide might be able to help him in this regard, and he slowly nodded off, his weariness finally taking him as he gently floated in the water.

* * *

Zeratide followed her trail, and was continually impressed by how well she managed to hide herself from pursuers. He could have found her with his mind, but she was in a state of despair, and if she truly wanted to be alone, he knew he would be unable to find her. He sniffed the air, and found a faint trace of her scent. Following, he soon came close to a waterfall. He snuck up to the crags of the cliff it fell from, and saw her in the waters of the lake underneath. He could smell another scent, far more scattered, and, looking down, paled when he saw Eragon in the water beneath him, dozing against the shore directly under the waterfall and against the cliffs. He frowned for a moment, then covered up all traces of his presence, and returned to Aelana.

* * *

Arya gave a contented sigh as the cool water soothed her skin, helping her maintain her focus. She focused her thoughts as she cleaned several days' worth of grime from travel and battle from her body. She considered all of her various memories of her childhood, her heartbreak at Evander's death, growing up without a father. Islanzadi had become detached from the rest of the world, dealing only with matters of politics, and her supposed daughter. She had treated both with polite indifference. After Faolin's death, Arya had understood how her mother had felt, and had forgiven her twice: once in Durza's dungeon of torture, and again in Ellesmera. Now she had two more parents to forgive of their shortcomings. She thought about Aelana, remembering how she had acted on the several occasions that she had been assigned to teach Arya. She had seemed far prouder of her pupil than a normal teacher, and now the reason was fairly obvious. But if she had loved her daughter so much, why had she not told her who she was? Why had she allowed her daughter to go through so much heartbreak, building walls around her, isolating her so that only one man managed to bypass them? What had made Eragon capable of such a feat?

_Your willingness,_ a voice said. _You allowed no other man to come close to you. Indeed, the only way they managed to talk to you was if you allowed them. Only your will would have allowed Eragon to see your heart, and come out, not a man who was scared further of you, but a man who was drawn closer to you_. A tear ran down her cheek. She knew that she had hurt the young man deeply, but she feared what would happen to both of them if she allowed herself to discover how she felt about him. She knew that they were closer than most, even she couldn't deny that. But was it really love? Was it attraction? Or was it more? What was it that made the man feel so strongly about her? _Passion, _the voice interjected again. _Not merely physical attraction, or love, for these are incomplete. He lives a life of passion. Whenever he is faced with anything, he puts the entirety of his being into it. If he says he loves you, than he would lay down his life for you, would do anything just to see your smile, to hear your laugh, to be graced with you presence. This is not merely young love, Arya. This is an opportunity for destiny. Why do I not say this is destiny? For we make our own destiny._

For some reason, her gaze shifted to the waterfall, and she noticed that on the immediate shore, there was a small bundle of clothes consisting of a man's trousers and a cloak. She was not alone. She cautiously reached out with her mind, and froze when she sensed Eragon, albeit asleep. He had apparently arrived before her, and had not seen her, but her cheeks instantly turned a fiery shade of red. She then paused, listening to the music of his consciousness, revealing a piece of his being.

The music was soft, and soothing, containing joy and sorrow in equal measure. It sounded like the sharp tones of a flute, combined with the slow beat of the drum. But the greatest sound came from the things he had experienced. He heard his laughter as a child, heard his tears when he was injured, and the gentle words he had been consoled with. She heard the twang of a bowstring, and heard soft words of comfort whispered to his dying prey. The sound of his travels, the sound of a slashing sword, a dying enemy, a dying friend…

And then, there was silence.

She feared it even more.

And then, she heard something that he had never told anyone about. She heard Angela's prophecy. She saw the possibilities play out in his mind, and they all were present: the realistic, the fantastic, the joyful, the sorrowful… but they all ended with one thing. They ended with his disappearance from Alagaesia, forever. And here, they stopped, for there were only two possibilities at this point. He would leave alone, or she would join him. The effect would be so drastic, that he would not be able to foresee anything else until it was settled.

She quickly retreated into her own mind, disappearing before Eragon softly murmured her name.

* * *

Well, there you go! I am once again sorry that it took so long. I'm considering having four songs for an appearance in the next chapter, so I'm going to list then, and you can vote for them on a poll that I will put up shortly on my profile. The songs are:

My Wish, by Rascal Flatts, sung by Zeratide as a father-to-daughter thing

What Hurts the Most, by Rascal Flatts, sung by Eragon to try and explain to Arya what the title of the song dictates

Fallin' For You, by Colbie Callait, sung by Arya to have a situation where she realizes how she is falling for Eragon

Don't Let Go, from the Spirit of the Cimarron soundtrack, as a duet by Eragon and Arya, in a romantic type of situation where they figure out how they feel.

Only one will appear next chapter, and it will slightly change the story. Till next time… Zeratide, out.


	10. My Wish

Hey everybody, I'm back. Here is the newest chapter of Du Sundavar Freohr, My Wish.

* * *

_Previously…_

_She quickly retreated into her own mind, disappearing before Eragon softly murmured her name._

* * *

Zeratide finally reached his tent, and gently pulled the flap aside, seeing Aelana laying on the cot, obviously in her sleeping trance. He gently pushed a lock of hair off her face, and kissed her cheek, smiling when she shifted slightly, before sighing contentedly. Deciding not to disturb her slumber yet, he pulled is chair out from his desk, and picked up a paper from the stack on top. Grabbing a quill, he first started writing random lines, before he decided to write down a song that he had sung to Arya the night she was born. He had left for the front lines an hour later.

A few minutes later, he looked over the lines he had written, stirring up the memory. He once again felt baby Arya in his arms, saw her soft eyes and gentle smile, heard her tinkling laugh. He set the quill down and rubbed his eyes feeling drained from the small task. He felt gentle hands weave their way around his shoulders, and Aelana's gentle breath on the nape of his neck. He gently turned his head, his lips meeting hers. He lifted her up, and brought her gently over to their cot, before setting her down. He gently climbed over her, lying down next to her. She placed her hands on his chest, and deepened the kiss. He placed his hand gently on her hip, feeling the soft fabric of her nightdress. He felt her break the kiss for a few moments, before he felt the fabric disappear from his fingers. With a muttered word, the candle went out, plunging the room into darkness. He smiled against her lips. Sleep could wait.

* * *

Eragon awoke in the water, listening to the pounding of the falls, before he moved toward the shore, pulling on his trousers and cloak, before quickly ruffling his hair to dry it. Seeing as he still had energy, he decided to climb up the cliffs near the falls. He ran towards the cliffs, and, remembering what Zeratide had taught him, kept his momentum, running about ten feet up before he grabbed onto a handhold. He quickly reached up and pulled himself to the next one, placing his feet where his hands were located seconds before. He kept in constant motion, because as Zeratide had said, the longer he stayed in one position, the faster he would tire. When he finally reached the top, he walked into the center of the current, finding that surprisingly he had enough strength to withstand it. Had he still been human, he would have been pulled off the edge. He looked over, and, judging the water to be deep enough, he leapt over, his arms spread, feeling the rush of air, before he brought them together and broke through the surface of the water, barely causing a ripple. He swam to shore and dried his clothes with a short spell, before he walked back toward the city, pausing when he heard a faint sob in the direction of Arya's tent.

Knowing that he may full well regret it, he walked toward her.

* * *

Arya made it quickly into her tent, sitting down on her own cot with a loud thump. She dug her hands into her hair, and gripped her head tightly trying to gain control.

"_You are my daughter, Arya."_

"_He lives a life of passion."_

"_I love you, Arya."_

"_Will I ever see you again?"_

Her eyes shot open at the last sentence. It sounded like her voice, but much more emotional. It sounded scared, infatuated, passionate, fierce, and strong. So many things she had prevented herself from feeling, they were there in the voice. And yet, she couldn't recall ever saying those words in such a way.

"_I shall always love you Arya. Goodbye. "_

She started to shake, recognizing this voice as Eragon's. _What is happening? _she thought. Her vision started to flicker, and she could swear that she saw a giant, black castle, its spires stabbing the clouds_. The sky was a bloody red, and the sounds of combat could be heard from all sides. She saw Eragon before her, dressed in a regal cloak, dyed scarlet with gore. He shifted, and revealed strong armor beneath. Two sheathes were belted to his waist, and a sapphire Rider's sword rested in each. He quickly drew them, slashing a man who charged him, before sheathing them as he ran towards the castle. Saphira shot in front of him, carving a path through the sea of soldiers, before veering off enough so that she would avoid crashing into the castle. She did, however, tear a chunk out of the ancient structure. Eragon quickly climbed, and crawled through, entering the castle._

Her vision started to flicker again, and she found herself sitting back in her tent. She buried her face in her hands, letting out a choked sob. She could barely keep her body still. Tremors racked her very bones, it seemed, as she tried to calm her breathing. She had never before had a vision of the future, and it seemed that it took a great toll on her. From what Eragon had told her, it was a violent experience at times. She heard someone knock on the post of her tent, and quickly composed herself, wiping her cheeks. "Who's there?" she called.

"Eragon," the reply came.

She instantly straightened her posture, brushed off her clothes, and stood to greet him. When he entered, she was glad of the darkness that hid a rising blush as she noticed he wore an open robe, displaying a strip of his chest and abdomen. He looked around, as if trying to detect a hidden danger, and asked, "Are you alright Arya? I was coming back from a bath when I heard a sob, so I just…" he trailed off, scratching the back of his neck in an embarrassed manner. She felt her heart soften a bit, before she reached out and placed her arm on his shoulder. She gave him a sad smile, and assured him that she was fine. She noticed a pained look in his eyes, and when he left, felt a small tear run down her cheek.

* * *

Eragon took a deep breath, and crossed his arms, feeling the night air upon his skin. It had finally cooled down, and he could hear crickets chirping. As he walked back towards his tent, a swarm of fireflies flew around him, giving him an honor guard of flashing lights, mystical and beautiful. He reached his tent, and smiled when he saw that Saphira had come back from hunting and was curled around his tent, his paws occasionally twitching as she dreamt. He gently scratched the scales near her jaw, entered his tent, took the cloak off, and went to sleep.

* * *

As Zeratide found out, sleep would wait for about two hours. Afterward, he lay underneath the sheets; his mate snuggled into his chest, her breath tickling his chest. He wrapped his arms around her in a protective embrace, and sighed. He gently slipped into his trance.

_Zeratide stood in the center of the throne room of Castle Ilirea. The Black King rose from his throne, and brought his hand to the broach at his throat, allowing his robe to fall to the floor, displaying a highly polished set of armor. He bore spiked metal pauldrons and vicious bracers with sharp scallops protruding from the outside edge of the forearm. He extended a hand, and his helm floated to it. He placed it on his brow, before lowering the visor. He tightened the iron cestus bound to his gloves, and, extending his hand again, summoned an onyx broadsword to his hand, before resting the edge of the blade against his pauldrons. Zeratide removed his cloak, displaying his own set of armor; simple, light leather, designed for speed. He knew that if he could keep Galbatorix in motion, the weight of his armor would cause him to tire, and cause difficulty in casting spells. Zeratide swiftly drew his own onyx blade, Kveykva, and charged, slashing at the tyrant's unarmored neck._

Zeratide came to awareness just as the sun started to rise, and was relieved to see that he had not woken Aelana during his vision. He gently climbed over her and off the cot, before pulling on a pair of trousers. He kissed Aelana's forehead, and left the tent, grabbing his cloak, a tunic, and Kveykva. He put on the remaining clothing, before going through some of the Rimgar, before practicing some of his forms. Once he was done, he located Ammadden, who had been hunting some distance from Feinster, and told him that once he returned, it would be an excellent time to fly. Ammadden agreed, and said, _I will be there as soon as I eat just a few more deer. I should be back by noon._ Zeratide re-entered the tent, and saw that Aelana was awake, brushing her hair in a small mirror. He picked up to song that he had written down, and kissed her neck. He reached into a small rucksack, and withdrew from it something he had created for her the day before. Gently taking her hair in his hands, he moved it to the side and brought into view a gold necklace he had fashioned from the earth. He gently clasped it around her neck, and bent down to meet her lips. A few minutes later, he left, deciding to talk to Arya.

* * *

Arya slowly awoke, reflecting upon the vision she had from the night before. She went through her morning rituals, brushing her hair and performing the Rimgar, before pulling on her customary shirt and trousers. She practiced some of her hand-to-hand combat, before flopping back down on to the bed, panting lightly. She heard someone knock on the post, and again asked of their identity.

She froze when she heard Zeratide respond.

* * *

"Can we talk?" he asked, leaning against the pole. He heard shuffling inside, as well as a faint _snick._ He sighed, and walked around to the back, where he saw Arya cutting a hole in the fabric to escape. She crawled through, and froze when she saw him. She tried running to the right, but stopped when he shuffled in the same direction. She tried running to the left, but was again met with the same results. She then just tried running past him, but he ducked, wrapped his right arm around her waist, and stood back up, tossing her onto his shoulder. She pounded on his shoulder, yelling to let her go, but he just readjusted her, and started walking back to his tent. After a few minutes, Arya gave up with a _huff,_ and set her chin on her hands, blowing a strand of hair out of his eyes. Zeratide chuckled at the humorous situation, before he dropped her somewhat unceremoniously in the dirt in front of his tent. She tried to bolt again, so he grabbed her, and set her back down in front of the tent. This time she stayed, and he quickly charged back into his tent, grabbing the scroll. When he came back out, he swore, seeing that she had disappeared.

* * *

Arya quickly ran, hiding behind whatever she could to avoid Zeratide. She knew she was acting childish, but she didn't know how to react to him yet. He had disappeared for a hundred years. Did he expect that she'd just accept him right then and there? Her entire life had been turned upside-down. She finally stopped, panting, on the battlements of the Feinster gates. She ducked down when she saw Zeratide outside, and peeked over the edge occasionally to make sure he was gone. Once she was gone, she sighed, and stood up, leaning against the stone structure. She narrowed her eyes when she heard singing, and she leaned over, seeing Zeratide leaning against the walls. She strained her ears to catch the words.

"_I hope the days come easy, and the moments pass slow, and each road leads you where you wanna go. And if you're faced with a choice and you have to choose, I hope you choose the one that means the most to you. And if one door opens to another door closed, I hope you keep on walking till you find a window. If it's cold outside, show the world the warmth of your smile…"_

A memory flashed back to Arya. It wasn't clear, but through the haze she heard those same words. She saw herself as a baby, smiling up at him as he sang those words to her, wishing her the life that he would die to protect. For the first time in a long time, a true smile found its way across her features.

"_But more than anything… more, than anything… My Wish! For You! Is that this life, becomes, all that you want it too! Your dreams stay big, your worries stay small, you never need to carry more than you can hold! And while you're out there getting where you're getting to, I hope you know somebody loves you! And wants the same things too. Yeah, this… is My Wish…."_

She thought of her childhood, how she always dreamt of such incredible possibilities. She had rarely worried, thanks to her status, and when she faced her burdens, she had been able to stand tall, and embrace them with as much regality as she possessed. She thought back to what he had told her. Maybe by making his sacrifice, he had given her what he wished.

_I hope you never look back, but you never forget, all the ones who love you in the place you left. I hope you always forgive, and you never regret, and you help somebody every chance you get. Oh, you'd find God's grace in every mistake, and always give more than you take. But more than anything… yeah more, than anything…."_

She listened as he repeated his wish, and she knew that she had occasionally looked back on her life, wishing she could change that, but now knew that she wouldn't have wanted it any other way. She had remembered her friends and her home, and she had dedicated her life to trying to assist as many people as possible. She found his religious reference as somewhat odd for an elf, but she had learned from her mistakes. As for the give and take… well, she rarely did either.

By the time he finished the song, she had wound her way back to him, staring at him as the last echo died. She stared at him for a minute, and hesitated when she saw him spread his arms slightly, as if begging her to embrace him. She stepped forward, and rested her head on his shoulders as he wrapped his arms around her. She sobbed silently into his shoulder, and he acted as her father, gently trying to soothe her pain.

Neither of them saw a young Rider watching them, his heart breaking due.

* * *

Eragon ran from the gates, pained at what he had seen. He had tried for months to gain Arya's affection, and in less than a week, Zeratide had done so, despite the fact that he already had a mate! When he stopped, he found himself at the bottom of the tower he had been tasked to climb. Yearning for a way to forget this incident, he charged it, climbing as fast as he possibly could, uncaring of any possibility of falling. When he reached the top, he screamed out his rage, knowing that he would not be heard from this height. He could feel Saphira trying to make contact, to soothe him, but he denied her access. He wouldn't be able to get rid of his anger in such a way. He looked over the edge of the tower, and walked around, coming to a side that had a balcony about two floors beneath him, and saw a clear path down to about five stories above the ground. Below that was a bale of hay for the stables. A taut cloth awning was above it, in order to keep it dry in the event of rain. He stepped over the edge of the parapet, and gently pushed off. He felt a familiar rush of air, before he was level with the balcony. He found that he had misjudged it a tiny bit, and when his fingers grasped the ledge, he slammed into the marble, knocking the air out of him and bruising his ribs.

He reached down to where the floor of the balcony was located, and grasped it firmly with his left hand, cautiously lowering himself so he was hanging by his fingers roughly twenty stories above the ground. He noticed that the floor had been reinforced with some steel crossbeams, so he grasped that, and continued downward, until he came to a barred window, likely for keeping prisoners. He released the crossbeam, and grabbed the iron bars. This time he was prepared, and braced himself with his knees. He dropped another floor, and grabbed a window ledge. After a few minutes, he had only one more floor to go, and he would have to jump sideways from his small area to grab a flag with Lady Lorana's crest. The flag was long, and it would definitely hold his wait, but it lay flat against the building. Grabbing it would be difficult. He felt his legs and arms shaking from staying in this position, so, taking a deep breath, he launched himself sideways, reaching for the cloth.

Time seemed to slow. His fingers came closer and closer. His fingers brushed across the cloth, and he grasped at it as hard as he could. He quickly brought his other hand to bear, and found himself dangling. He pressed his knees against the building, and, making sure he had a tight hold, brought one foot to the side, and pushed himself. He brought his other foot against the stone, and a few seconds later, he was managing to stand sideways against the building, the flag the only thing keeping him up. Looking up the road, he could see that a small group of soldiers had gathered, and were watching with awe as he performed such amazing feats. He looked at himself, and noticed that a breeze had started up. The flag started to billow, and he realized he was still wearing his cloak when it started flapping around him. He imagined that from the ground, it would probably be quite the spectacle; however he had other things to worry about. The flag was starting to move, and he was starting to slowly lose his grip. He wasn't quite at the right angle for the jump, so he decided to try something crazy. He suddenly ran forward, arcing along the building while holding the flag. When he reached the height of his run, he stopped, and allowed himself to swing back. When that was completed, he started running forward again, and released when he calculated the moment to be just right.

His momentum caused him to flip over so that his back was parallel with the ground. He could hear the shouts of the soldiers watching, and guessed they were probably running toward him, naively hoping to break his fall. He felt the cloak billow, and wrap around him. He closed his eyes, and waited for one of two sounds; a rip or a sickening crunch.

He was rewarded with the rip.

He crashed into the awning, and felt the fabric tear from his weight, although he had slowed down a fair amount. The pile of hay absorbed the rest of the impact. He saw through the hay that the soldiers had stopped roughly ten yards away, as if waiting for him to jump out. Deciding to play a joke, he remained perfectly still, quieting his breathing so it was almost silent. After a few seconds, a single soldier, likely only sixteen, cautiously walked forward. When he reached the hay, he carefully knelt down, staring at Eragon with horror. He turned to shout to the others, and Eragon picked the moment. He leapt at the young man, uttering a guttural cry, and laughed when he saw the young boy scream, try to run, trip, and stumble before charging back to the group as if he was being chased by the hounds of Hell. Eragon noticed that even the most grizzled veterans of the group were unable to contain their laughter.

He brushed off the hay, and waved to the soldiers. They would probably tell the rest of their comrades, and his fame would increase, but he found that he didn't care. He had left all his anger at the top of the tower, and he felt calm, ready to face Zeratide. He allowed Saphira to access his thoughts.

_I was above you the whole time, little one,_ she said. _Had you been in any danger, I would have dived to rescue you, even if I had crashed into the earth myself._ He nodded, and responded, _I am sorry to have worried you. I had to clear my thoughts, and action is the best way I know._ He could sense Saphira's exasperation, before her amusement as she saw what he had done to the young soldier. _I doubt that poor boy will ever be able to stand still again. He was quivering like a leaf before an almighty gale,_ she said, chuckling slightly. Eragon grinned, and assured her that the young boy would be fine. An eagle caught his gaze, and he followed its flight for a moment, watching its graceful turns and dives. Before long, it veered towards the gate, and he watched in fascination as it landed on someone's arm. He focused his gaze, and found that it had landed upon the very man he wished to speak to.

* * *

Zeratide watched as Eragon climbed down the tower, and noticed that despite being a beginner, he was very skilled with it. He wasn't too surprised; during his training with Vrael, whenever he had free time, he had trained with Brom, and taught Brom some of the espionage tactics he was learning. He prepared to use magic when he figured out how Eragon planned to get down the last five stories, just in case, and was relieved to see that Eragon had pulled off such a difficult technique. He laughed when he saw the incident with the young soldier, remembering that he had done the same to Brom the first time he had performed such a technique. Looking to the sky, he saw an eagle perched near where Eragon had started his descent. He let out a high-pitched whistle, and the bird took flight, slowly winging its way toward him. He held out his forearm, and the bird landed upon it.

He gently stroked its beak, and smiled when he saw the bird nudge into it. He saw Eragon look in his general direction, and, to his confusion, sensed remnants of anger coming from the young man. He saw Eragon start walking his way toward him, and climbed down the cracks in the stone from the siege. When he reached Eragon, the young man stopped, breathing a little hard, from his climb and from anger. Zeratide saw him slide his foot ever so slightly to the side. Zeratide's eyes widened and he sidestepped a punch sent toward his jaw. Eragon kept moving, throwing in kicks, knife-hands, and Zeratide's dodges had to become more intricate. After a few seconds, he found himself blocking blows with his arms, wrist, elbows, legs, any part of him that he could. Eragon finally landed a blow to the chin, and quickly swept the leg, knocking Zeratide off balance. Eragon grabbed Zeratide's tunic at the neck, and slammed the man into the ground, creating a small crater an inch or two deep. Zeratide coughed, a tiny dribble of blood at the corner or his mouth, before he tackled Eragon, trying to gain leverage. Eragon went sprawling in the dirt, and Zeratide quickly leapt on top of him, pinning a leg and an arm. Eragon twisted, trying to break free, but stopped when he heard something pop. Looking at Zeratide, he saw the man grimace in pain, and guessed that he might have dislocated or broken a bone in the elf's body.

Eragon felt the pressure on his arm lessen, so he quickly twisted, and brought a backhand to Zeratide's face, sending the man rolling in the dust. By now, another group of soldiers had circled around them, believing them to be training, and cheered when they saw Eragon break free. One of them helped Zeratide back up, and pushed him back toward Eragon. Zeratide turned, flipped the man off, and was tackled by Eragon.

When Zeratide landed, he felt a bolt of white-hot pain shoot up his arm, causing him to shout out in anger. _Why is he attacking me?_ he wondered, rolling out of the way of a stomp to the stomach. _Maybe it's a misunderstanding, _Ammadden responded, before he was drowned out by a roar. Saphira had landed a few feet away from the scuffle in the dirt, and, lashing out with her tail, sent Eragon sprawling into the dirt himself, before pinning the two combatants to the ground with her paws. Zeratide's eyes watered in pain as he felt the she-dragon's abrasive scales rub against his dislocated shoulder, and finally cast a quick spell to fix it. He would have done so earlier, had he had the time.

_WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?_ Saphira roared, making the two hardened Riders shake. _Eragon, you're supposed to learn from your Master, not attempt to kill him._ Eragon turned his head slightly out of shame, and Saphira focused her gaze on Zeratide. _And you! Why are you courting Arya when you already have a mate?_ Zeratide stared at the dragoness' eyes, slack jawed at the accusation before shivering slightly. Making sure that the group had disappeared to avoid Saphira's wrath, he stated, "I'm not courting Arya, believe me. Arya is my daughter."

Instantly, both Dragon and Rider were focused intently on him, disbelief on both their faces. "Arya is the daughter of Islanzadi and Evander," Eragon stated, trying to get out from beneath Saphira's claws. Saphira nodded in agreement, and Zeratide sighed, trying to figure out how to explain it to them.

"No, Eragon."

Both men craned their necks to see Arya leaning against a building, an amused smirk across her features. "Saphira, could you release my father and your Rider?" she asked, trying her best not to giggle. Saphira nodded dumbly, and released the two, before sitting down and cocking her head in curiosity. While Zeratide checked his wounds, Arya explained what Zeratide had told her. Ammadden landed nearby, and Zeratide rummaged around in the saddlebags for a moment, before pulling out a long package, along with a small bundle of wrapped paper. He tossed the bundle to Arya, and the long package to Eragon. When the two looked at him, he grinned. "Do you know what today is?" he asked. When the two looked at him in a puzzled manner, his grin widened. "It's Christmas."

Eragon and Arya both looked at him in shock, before feeling slightly guilty about forgetting the holiday. As Arya started to apologize, he wrapped her into a hug, whispering, "You accepted me as your father. That was your gift to me." He looked at Eragon, and said, "You, on the other hand, owe me a few teeth." Eragon chuckled nervously, before Zeratide slapped him on the shoulder, letting out a large laugh. 7Arya opened her present and saw that Zeratide had made her a necklace of gold, with an emerald in the center, an onyx stone on either side, followed by a diamond, sapphire, and ruby. She buried her face in his neck, thanking him, before allowing him to place it around her neck.

Eragon looked over the package, trying to determine what it was. It felt somewhat heavy, but it couldn't way more than a pound or two. His first guess was that it was a sword, but he wasn't really sure as to why he would receive that from Zeratide. After all, he already had a sword. He removed the wrapping, and to his surprise, it was indeed a sword. He gave Zeratide a questioning look, before the elf motion for him to draw it. He did so, and noted that it was a sapphire Rider's sword, similar in make to his own. It was beautifully crafted with each feature elegant and deadly. He felt like he had seen this sword before, and, turning the blade, noticed a rune on it. He squinted, trying to make it out.

He nearly dropped it when he saw that it was Undbitr, Brom's own sword.

* * *

Well, there you go guys. I hope it was worth the wait. Read and review. Zeratide, out.


	11. Stydja

Hey everybody! Hope you been doing well. I've really updated almost all of my stories, except for my completed ones and this, and now this one is. Anyway, here's the next chapter, Stydja (rest).

* * *

_Previously…_

_Eragon looked over the package, trying to determine what it was. It felt somewhat heavy, but it couldn't way more than a pound or two. His first guess was that it was a sword, but he wasn't really sure as to why he would receive that from Zeratide. After all, he already had a sword. He removed the wrapping, and to his surprise, it was indeed a sword. He gave Zeratide a questioning look, before the elf motion for him to draw it. He did so, and noted that it was a sapphire Rider's sword, similar in make to his own. It was beautifully crafted with each feature elegant and deadly. He felt like he had seen this sword before, and, turning the blade, noticed a rune on it. He squinted, trying to make it out._

_He nearly dropped it when he saw that it was Undbitr, Brom's own sword._

* * *

He drew the blade, and he felt warmth emanating through it, as though Brom had placed his arms around his son in a father's embrace. He swung the sword, and heard it sing through the air. Feeling confident, he spun the blade into a reverse grip Brom had taught him, and took a swing, the deadly steel moving at almost double the speed. Zeratide held up his hand, and went over to Ammadden, grabbing another wrapped object from the saddlebags. He unwrapped it, revealing a weathered sword identical to the Rider's sword strapped to his waist. "Draw Brisingr, and fight me with both swords," he said, drawing Kveykva in his right hand, the new blade in his left. He guarded the edge and held them out to the sides, and widened his stance slightly, his knees bending and his right wrist turning a few degrees. Arya rolled her eyes, and moved off to the side so she was out of the way, while Saphira decided to go hunting.

Eragon nervously drew his sword, rolling the blades in his wrists. He gave a war cry, and ran forward, slashing at the elf in front of him. He saw Zeratide raise the left to block, and stabbed out with the right. He twisted around the tip, and slashed again. His blade glanced against Zeratide's, and he noticed that his blows lacked power and focus. He kept striking, his blows easily batted aside by Zeratide's blades, and when Zeratide struck, it felt like a hammer blow against Eragon's weakened grip. He roared in anger and frustration as the elf blocked and dodged again and again. The blades grew weighty in his hands, and he eventually left his guard too open, allowing Zeratide's blades to come up, forming an X across his neck.

* * *

Zeratide licked his dry lips as he held the blades against Eragon's neck. His arms were trembling slightly from his own exhaustion, but he kept the blades steady, not showing any weakness. Eragon's blows were weaker than he would have liked, but the boy had potential with dual-wielding, having been able to hold him off for so long, with a sword design that wasn't usually used for dual-wielding. He lowered the blades, and sheathed Kveykva in the sheathe at his waist. He summoned the other blade's sheathe, and strapped it to his back. He took a drink from a waterskin he kept at his right hip, offering some to Eragon. The young man drank greedily, before handing it back to him. Arya sauntered up to them, and watched them expectantly. Zeratide finally spoke, leaning against Ammadden as he stored the wrap for the sheathe, and the waterskin, in the saddlebags.

"Brom, like me, invented his own technique with the sword. When he was training as a Rider, he started his fighting style on a dual-wield principle, believing that it would grant him epic tales of himself in combat, cutting down his foes with both blades. He succeeded in creating the style, but during his training, he matured, and knew that he wouldn't be able to have two blades made by Rhunon."

Eragon interrupted, asking, "Then how did you get your other blade?"

Zeratide sighed. "During my own training, I sought out the Elf smith, and told her of my own smithing history in Carvahall. I asked for advice, and she requested I show her what I knew. I did so, and she was impressed with my skill. She had been looking for a worthy apprentice for some time, and deemed me worthy, so she taught me her skills, and the spells she uses to imbibe her swords with their abilities." He hefted Kveykva, and said, "This blade, in fact, was a joint effort between her and myself. She had never made a blade of this design, and I had drafted it out in my early years in Carvahall. I helped her forge the design, and we both imbued it with energy and spells, making it a blade worthy of the Leader Vrael was training me to be. Later on, during my exile, I created my other blade. I spent the better part of two decades changing the makeup of the steel into the brightsteel Rhunon forged her blades with."

He paused for a few moments, lost in his memories. Eragon let him, his own memories from his boyhood resurfacing. He cast a glance at Arya, and saw that she was engrossed in Zeratide's story, eager to learn about her father. Zeratide stirred from his reverie, and continued. "As I was originally saying, Brom matured. He knew that it would be a hassle in certain situations to have to lug around both blades, and that Rhunon wouldn't make him two. He also knew that if he was in a situation where he had only one blade, he would be at a disadvantage, so he created another fighting style. Instead of starting from scratch, which would have taken years, he took the basics of his dual-wield, and refined them into a one-handed style."

Eragon absorbed the information silently, having to yet again change his view of his father. He almost laughed at the thought of a youthful, adventure-seeking boy, and had to concede Brom's wisdom, yet again, in creating a different style when he pointed out the weaknesses in his old style. "So basically," he began, trying to determine his understanding, "you're saying that I already know a bit of the dual-wielding style he created?" Zeratide gave a pleased nod, and said, "Exactly." A gleam appeared in his eye, and he hopped onto Ammadden, the black dragon raising his wings. "As punishment for starting a brawl against your Master, you will climb the tower, and descend via your Leap of Faith, for the rest of today." Zeratide laughed as Eragon groaned, and noticed that Arya was trying to maintain a straight face. Another thought formed in his mind, and he said, "To make sure you do it, Arya will stay here and watch you."

As Arya groaned to herself, Ammadden took off, making a deep, throaty chuckle.

* * *

_She knows she's your daughter for less than a week, and already you've given her boy troubles, _he said. Zeratide grinned, before taking off his cloak and fighting to put it in the saddlebag.

_True, _he thought, finally tying the bag shut. _I must say, I find it interesting that Eragon has such feelings for her. He looks like what Brom said I looked like when I met Aelana._

_And do you feel nothing? Most fathers would be far more upset to see a young man courting their daughters. Arya is old enough to care for herself, but I hardly believe you would just let it happen._

_From what I've seen of Eragon's behavior, he is so much like his father at his age; stubborn, wise, foolish, and fierce all in one. You know I can read people, Ammadden, and I sense no ill intent from him. He genuinely cares for Arya. I can see that they already share a closer relationship than she has with most people, and that in itself is one hell of an achievement. I've missed a lot, Ammadden, and I was most needed when she was captive at Gil'ead._

_Ah yes, _Ammadden said, adjusting his flight in response to a small breeze. _I remember. Aelana told us what Arya had told Islanzadi. She is definitely your daughter, to have survived such horrors and remain sane._ They flew in silence for a time, before Ammadden questioned, _And what do you think of Faolin?_

_I knew his father well enough; he __was Daeon, the man who tried to force himself on Aelana in Ellesmera. The man may have been drunk that night, but all the liquor does is bring out our worst, and that was something he was fully capable of having done without it. I hold no ill will to the son for the father's sin, but blood always tells. I have met only three exceptions, and all were Riders._

_And what of Eragon's half-brother, Murtagh? Will you hold Morzan's sins against him?_

Zeratide recalled the brief conversation he had had with Eragon. He had asked the boy if he had any other siblings, and he had briefly told about Murtagh. He shared a few of his memories with his Master, but found the subject painful to talk about.

_Morzan's sins are his own, as are Murtagh's. I know that he faces a horrible bond, one I would not wish upon Galbatorix himself, despite his atrocities. No, I hold nothing against Murtagh. If you remember, I managed to free a man of his own slavery to his true name before the Fall. Tenga, I believe. If I can free Murtagh from his, he will be a valuable asset; a man containing knowledge of Galbatorix's inner workings, his wards, and where he has hidden the Eldunari, as well as how to access them._

_So you would take his bonds from one man, and use them against him to bind him to you?_

_Never. If he chooses to fight, he may fight. If he chooses neutrality, then he may do as he wishes. The choice is his._

_Good, Ammadden said contentedly. I know you would never do such a thing._

_Then why ask?_

_Because in war, you often need to hear the words from your own mouth._

* * *

Eragon landed for the tenth time in the pile of hay, and climbed out. Night had fallen, yet there was still enough light for him to see, and he saw Arya watching him, her look calculating as ever. He walked over to her, panting slightly as his muscles trembled. "I'm done for the night," he said, sitting down next to her on the parapets of the city wall, his arms resting on his knees. Arya slid down next to him, offering her waterskin. He accepted, and drank far more politely than before, wary of appearing as a slob. He didn't want her to have a bad opinion of him, after all.

They sat in silence, both staring at the stars above. After some time, Arya turned her head to him, and said gently, "You did well."

He turned, his eyes meeting hers, and noticed something different about them. The first thing he noticed was the presence of actual emotion, making her seem less alien. The second was the emotions in them, foremost contentment. He held her gaze, and noticed the smallest flare of passion, believing it to be contentment. He was aware of how close they were, and feared that she might reprimand him. He felt a small thrill when she leaned ever so slightly toward him, enough so that he nearly missed it. Feeling daring, he leaned over a hair's breadth.

She leaned a fraction more, and Eragon decided to throw all caution to the wind. He leant forward, and gently pressed his lips against hers. He felt a modicum of fear when he felt her tense, before she relaxed, deepening the kiss. He brought his hand up, gently resting on her jaw as the kiss became more passionate. They broke apart only when they required air, and stared into one another's eyes again. He gently brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes with a finger, and kissed her again.

When the kiss was over, she laid her head on his shoulder, sighing contentedly. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, and they gazed at the stars, before falling into their sleeping trance.

* * *

When Eragon woke, he found Arya nestled against his chest, and he smiled as the night's memories replayed in his mind. He shifted his legs a bit, and froze when he felt cold steel against his jugular. Following the blade with his eyes, he sighed when he saw it was Zeratide holding the sword.

"Dead," he said, sheathing his blade once more. "You need to be prepared at all times, Eragon. If I were a true enemy, I could have just slit your throat and Arya's for good measure." Eragon froze, and turned his gaze to the elf sleeping against him. He gently kissed her forehead, and she stirred, blearily opening her eyes. She gave a dreamy smile when she saw Eragon gazing at her, and stretched, arching her back like a cat. She rubbed her eyes, and froze when she saw her father, an amused smirk etched across his face. "Now, I'm only going to ask this once," he said, his smirk widening. "Eragon, did you bed my daughter?"

Arya's face changed into a mortified expression, and Eragon leapt to his feet, raising his arms over his head. "No sir!" he yelled, a fearful look across his features. "I would never do that without her consent!" Zeratide's eyebrow arched, and he and Arya turned to Eragon, an astounded look on their faces. Eragon's eyes widened and he shook his head, waving his arms in front of him. "That's not what I mean! I wouldn't sleep with your daughter!" Arya, finally seeing that her father was playing with her, decided to play along. She gave an indignant huff, and sauntered away. Eragon again looked mortified, and ran after her. Zeratide finally allowed himself to laugh, sheathing his blade.

_You know you're going to hell, right? _Ammadden asked, an amused underline to his tone.

_I'm a father, Ammadden. It is my God-given right to give my daughter's boyfriend a hard time, and tease her at the same time. Aelana's father did the same thing when we met, and it worked out in the end._

* * *

Arya giggled as she watched Eragon chasing her from her vantage point. She knew that she was acting extremely out of character, but her world had been changed forever. The knowledge changed her. She finally knew that she had someone to talk to about anything, and she wouldn't be judged. Islanzadi had listened to her as a child, but she had always been judgmental. She had listened when Arya recounted her torture in Gil'ead, but had done little to help. Arya knew that when she told Zeratide, he would tell her the things she needed to hear, do the things that needed to be done. She saw Eragon kneel, and examine a footprint, before he started toward her hiding place. She laughed again, and took off.

Aelana sat in her tent, seated before the oak desk. She worked on a rather risqué story, occasionally pausing for a few seconds, the tip of the quill between her sculpted lips. When she finished a page, she would grab a new parchment, continuing the lines. She finished the tale, and, seeing as she had free time, drew along the borders, creating vines, mystical beasts, and scenes of passion. She heard the flap of the tent brush to the side, and closed her eyes, smiling as she felt her mate kiss her. She felt his hands rub her tired shoulders, and she sighed contentedly while he read her work. "Beautiful," she heard him whisper, the sound sending shivers down her spine. He gently pressed his lips against the nape of her neck, and she felt her eyelids flutter, a soft gasp escaping her lips. She turned, and brought hers to his, embracing him in a passionate kiss. She gently pushed him onto the bed, and removed her tunic, before straddling his waist. His tunic soon joined hers on the floor, and before long, they were wrapped in the throes of ecstasy.

_And as our passionate bodies intertwine,_

_A night of legendary lust ensues._

_Your body is marked forever as mine;_

_My body shall always belong to you._

* * *

Eragon finally gave up trying to chase down Arya. At this point she knew that she had been playing with him, having heard her laughs, and had tried to chase her down for… actually, he didn't know the reason. Maybe he was trying to figure out what their relationship now was. He shrugged, sitting down in the dirt for a few moments. _Are you there, Saphira? _he called, closing his eyes.

_I never left you, little one. Tell me what happened._

He launched into a short narration of what had occurred, and he sensed deep amusement emanating from her as he told of Zeratide's morning questioning. _I haven't seen you so flustered since your training with Brom, _she said as he showed her the memories.

_I remember. I miss my father: there was much we never were able to do; much we never were able to share. It must have been painful for him, having to watch his son grow and remain silent. He and Zeratide both made difficult choices, and Arya and I are both better people for it._

_That was all they ever could have wanted, _Saphira replied. _Brom himself told me that he never regretted the man you turned out to be. He was proud of you unto his day of death, and never let anyone tell you otherwise. I will see you in a few minutes little one; I am almost there._

He pulled out Undbitr and Brisingr, and practiced his dual-wielding, trying to increase the power of his grip. He nearly smacked himself a few times, but managed to get a basic feel for it as Saphira touched down. He climbed into the saddle, and they took off, soaring straight up at massive speed. Once they were a few thousand feet up, they leveled out, corkscrewing, flipping, tumbling, any maneuver they could perform. He had repaired the leather straps since the last time they had been damaged, and was glad he did; several times, he would have fallen were it not for the strong leather. He eventually removed the straps, and leapt from Saphira's back, launching toward the ground. His body perpendicular to the ground, he twisted, moving to the side. He managed to twist again, and was back in his original pattern, cloak billowing behind him. Saphira came closer and closer, and as she drew parallel to him, he grabbed a spike, gently maneuvering himself into the saddle. She leveled out with plenty of room to spare, and he felt gravity return to him.

_Excellent work as always, my friend,_ Eragon said, hugging her large neck as best he could.

_Yes. And since I didn't have to fight so hard, I won't be too sore tomorrow. _She released a low hum of contentment, and the two soared through the skies, leaving their cares in their shadow below.

* * *

Zeratide lay sprawled on the cot with Aelana, simply staring at his wife as she dreamily traced the muscles on his chest. He opened his mind out toward her, and they made the connection, submerging themselves deeply in each other's souls. He could sense her happiness at their reunion, her hope for a better and peaceful life, the life Galbatorix had stolen from them. To him, this was the ultimate in their relationship. Most men would have remained merely for the physical pleasure, or for her beauty, and while he loved those things about her, it was the intimacy that still held him. He pressed his forehead to hers, and felt as she discovered his longing. He could feel her puzzlement, and heard her voice it a moment later.

"What is wrong, my love?" Aelana asked, staring at her mate. She knew he was thrilled to finally be back with his family, so she was puzzled upon sensing his longing. She didn't know what he wished for, but she knew that if it was within her power, she would do anything to make him happy, just as she knew he would for her.

"I've been thinking…" he began, before she interrupted, lightheartedly saying, "And that's never a good thing." He grinned, and kissed her again before continuing. "I think we should have another child, Aelana."

The words stopped her instantly, and he wondered if he may have said the wrong thing. He saw her lip tremble, before she kissed him, fiercely, passionately. There were tears in her eyes, and a smile on her lips, and he knew that she had wished for the same. She leaned forward, and whispered in his ear, "We better get started then." He grinned, and flipped her over, maintaining the mental connection. He could feel the love radiating off of her, and knew that she could feel the same from him.

* * *

Murtagh knelt before the King, hatred clearly visible on every feature. The King held no illusions of the relationship with his Rider: each man knew that the moment he was of no use, he would be disposed of. Galbatorix had promised him suffering as he had never felt; his brutal training left no doubt of his honesty in the young man's mind. They King stared at his vassal for a few more moments, and spoke, his voice sounding as smooth as silk.

"There is a Rider who yet lives, Murtagh."

The red-clad youth instantly froze; disbelief and wonder replaced his anger. In an instant, he had told Thorn, and could feel his partner's hope radiating from him.

"This Rider is like no other. When he was a mere thirty years old, Vrael chose him as his apprentice for the position of Leader. He commands power the likes of which are incapable of being matched without a handful of Eldunari. His mind is faster than an arrow, and just as sharp, and he has no peer in the blade. This Rider is Zeratide, and he has called for a ceasefire between the Empire and the Varden."

Murtagh closed his eyes, imagining his future if he could manage to find the Rider. He would be free of his vows, free of the torture, free from the acts he was forced to commit.

"During this time, the two factions will be building up arms, armor, and numbers. All the numbers we possess will not make a difference if both he and Eragon are on the field. I am sending you out on a suicide mission, my apprentice. Kill either Rider. The punishment for failure is the mutilation of both you and your dragon while your link is maintained. You will be healed, and repeat the torture again for thirty days. The only reason you will not die is because you will be needed if you fail. Once again, you are to kill either Rider, both if the opportunity presents."

Murtagh bowed his head, playing the role of the servant. He had the feeling he had just been handed a chance at freedom by his Master, a situation that had never occurred before in the Black King's reign. "It will be done, my Master," he lied, standing to leave.

He quickly traveled to his room, grabbing the Eldunari he had hidden from the man. He counted a dozens, but it was a small enough number from the hundreds that the King would never miss them. He found Thorn, and packed the saddle. They took off as soon as they were able.

Hopefully, it was the last time they would do so.

* * *

Well everybody, there you have it. I hope you liked it. The only way I'll know? Write a review. Please more than just, 'I liked, update soon.' If you give me a suggestion, I will listen to it. I've done so in one of my stories already; I am perfectly willing to listen to suggestions here as well. Zeratide, out.


	12. Freedom

Hey everybody! I have to say, my recent level of reviews has been a lot better than those I normally receive, so let me thank you for that with another chapter of Du Sundavar Freohr. Here we go…

* * *

_Previously…_

_With Zeratide:_

"_I think we should have another child, Aelana."_

_The words stopped her instantly, and he wondered if he may have said the wrong thing. He saw her lip tremble, before she kissed him, fiercely, passionately. There were tears in her eyes, and a smile on her lips, and he knew that she had wished for the same. She leaned forward, and whispered in his ear, "We better get started then."_

_

* * *

_

_With Murtagh:_

_He quickly traveled to his room, grabbing the Eldunari he had hidden from the man. He counted a dozens, but it was a small enough number from the hundreds that the King would never miss them. He found Thorn, and packed the saddle. They took off as soon as they were able._

_Hopefully, it was the last time they would do so._

_

* * *

_

Murtagh sat in silence as he thought over his orders from the Black King. As per usual, he surveyed the memory in his mind, looking for any flaws in wording that would grant him a loophole. He found one or two, but none that he saw as feasible, so he resigned himself to yet another battle against his brother. He quietly sighed, wondering what his life had become.

_It seems to me, _Thorn began, his young voice piercing through his mind, _that the easiest way to avoid the constant state of battle is to escape. We may only be gone from the King for a few days, weeks, or months, but it might make all the difference._

_While it may be true that he never said when we had to return, _Murtagh began, stretching in the saddle, _you and I both know that he does not take kindly to delays. He would punish us even more severely than if we had failed the mission. Knowing that bastard, he'll probably also give us that punishment as well._

They flew in silence for some time, before landing for a brief meal.

* * *

Zeratide stood at the entrance to his tent in his trousers, staring out into the night. He heard Aelana's gentle breathing, and sighed as he thought of what it was he was committing too. This time, he would be involved in the child's life, and he would have to make sure that he didn't die on the battlefield to do so. He smiled, and knew that it was a decision he wouldn't regret.

* * *

Eragon lay in bed, tossing and turning as fitful visions crossed his gaze.

* * *

_He ran through a field strewn with carnage, both Brisingr and Undbitr strapped at his waist. Saphira flew overhead, setting the Empire's soldiers ablaze. She crashed into the side of a castle, tearing a hole in the structure, and he ran, quickly climbing the structure. He crawled through the hole, and ran through the hallways. He was unable to tell how he knew the way, but he navigated easily through the maze of hallways. When he came across a guard, he quickly knocked them out with a few blows. He made sure to leave no body count on this stretch._

_

* * *

_

He felt his body shiver violently, the covers of his bed strewn across the floor. He could hear Saphira growl a bit in her sleep. He jerked, and rolled off the bed, his eyes darting across the room, unseeing.

* * *

_He fought in yet another battle. His hair was streaked with dirt and grime, and he dodged, missing the blade of an ax by a hair's breadth. He quickly lashed out, destroying the man's chest with a single slash. He sheathed the sword and grabbed the ax before it landed, using it to cleave apart a man's shield. The man screamed in pain, and he tore the ax out. He allowed the shaft to slide through his hand, and tightened his grip and inch from the blade. He brought the shaft to bear on the man's temple, sending him sprawling on the ground. The blade slid back to a normal grip, and he brought it down, cleaving the man's skull in two. Brain mixed with bone and steel, and he released the ax, before charging another man._

_

* * *

_

He felt cool hands upon his brow, and felt his body stop shivering. Dust coated his arms, and his legs were wrapped tightly in the shredded remains of his blanket. His eyes slowly stopped their jerking, and he slowly focused on the person bent over him. "Arya?" he whispered, staring at the elf above him.

She wore only a pair of lacey shorts, and a thin silk shirt, both garments accentuating her figure. A cloak lay forgotten on the floor, and he was unable to take his eyes off the woman above him. She gently guided him back to the bed, and with a murmured word, repaired his blankets. She draped them over him, and paused for a moment. They both felt a sudden tension build up, and he licked his dry lips. _What will she do? _he wondered as he gazed at the goddess before him. He was answered when she slipped under the covers to lie next to him. He moved over enough to give her room, and stared at her as she crawled closer. Their gazes locked, and he felt an almost animalistic urge, but he kept himself in check. He felt her press her face gently into his shoulder, and heard her whisper, "I'm sorry for running."

He gently kissed her forehead, and the two drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Murtagh stared out across the plains, and saw the city of Feinster, where the Varden had taken up camp. Dawn had yet to break, and he and Thorn had not been seen in the inky blackness of the night. He drew Zar'roc, and he and Thorn began their slow descent. When they were above the camp, yet still out of sight, he jumped, using magic to slow his fall, while Thorn veered away. He landed silently in the center of Feinster, and stuck to the shadows, heading from building to building. He saw Saphira curled around what he assumed was Eragon's tent. _No,_ he thought with horror, his orders forcing him towards his brother. _Not him. Please, not Eragon. _He crept past Saphira, and slowly and silently entered the tent. He stopped when he saw his brother lying in bed with Arya, both nearly naked. _No way, _he thought, staring at the two. _Didn't know he had it in him._ He felt his body move, raising Zar'roc to finish the two. "No!" he screamed, the blade carving down. He saw the two instantly alert, and knew they wouldn't be able to react in time. He closed his eyes, turning his head.

The ring of metal rang through the plains.

* * *

Zeratide grit his teeth, focusing his strength into the blade that had stopped Murtagh from killing the two. He saw Murtagh's head whip back on shock, and reacted, slamming his palm into the young Rider's stomach, shouting, "Thrysta vindr!" Murtagh was blasted out of the opening, landing roughly fifty yards away. He flipped Kveykva into a backhand grip, and pulled his other blade, holding it similarly. He turned to Eragon and Arya, and shouted, "When I come back here, I better get an explanation!" He stalked out of the tent, and gave a satisfied smile as he heard Eragon rush to get dressed.

* * *

Murtagh groaned in pain as he pushed himself onto his elbows. He heard a ringing in his ears, and when he stood, he nearly fell over from a loss of balance. He saw the white-haired elf raise his blades over his head in an X, before shouting, "Kveykva!" Lightning shot down from the sky, and coated the blades, creating a shining aura around the steel. He growled, and sent a blast of magic flying at the elf. He saw the man slash forward casually as he walked, deflecting the shot to the side. He gaped, before fixing his face in a fierce scowl. He sent another blast and yet another, before both were deflected by the man. He knew by now that this must have been the Rider he was meant to kill, so he quickly summoned Thorn to him. As the dragon grew closer, he accessed the Eldunari in his possession, feeling the energy begin to thrum. Despite his reluctance to fight, he was forced to follow orders.

He raised his hands, and sent a blast of fire into the sky. He saw the Rider pause for a few seconds, and knew that the man must have been summoning his dragon. He could see several squadrons of Varden soldiers running from the city to the location of the battle, but he didn't care. Thorn roared as he appeared, bowling towards his Rider. He landed in a spray of dirt, and sent a blast of fire at the enemy Rider. The man swiped his sword through the air, and an arc of lightning split the flame in two. Murtagh and Thorn combined their minds, and roared, neither able to tell from whom the sound came. He raised his head to the sky, and saw that the fire had performed the task he had hoped; thunder clouds formed overhead, energy building in their inky blackness. He raised his hands to the sky, and screamed out.

"Kveykva!"

* * *

Eragon finally pulled on the last of his clothing and armor, and ran out of the tent as Arya donned a few articles of his clothing. He saw Thorn land next to his half-brother in a spray of dirt, and he saw both Rider and dragon roar in fury. He heard the boom of thunder overhead, and saw Murtagh raise his arms to the heavens, where a thundercloud grew. He heard the man shout out the familiar spell, and saw a bolt of lightning blast directly at Zeratide, engulfing him in a bright halo of light. A moment later, the entire area was covered in smoke. He roared out in anger, and Saphira leapt forward, intent on mutilating the red dragon before her, when everything suddenly stopped.

* * *

The smoke cleared, and Zeratide stood in the exact place he had been before, a crater dug into the earth around him. His swords were sheathed, and he held his arms out to the side of his waist, lightning visibly pulsating down his arms. It shifted, and focused to his left hand, which shot out straight from the shoulder. Ammadden landed next to his Rider, and blew a small flame to the elf, which focused into his right hand, which also shot out. _Now for the tricky part, _he thought, and carefully brought his hands together. He found the drain on his reserves nearly lethal; the amount of energy to control pure lightning and dragon fire, and fuse it into a single cohesive unit was hard enough. Add onto it the drain of paralyzing everything within a hundred yards, and he was ready to drop dead. He managed to fuse the two powers together, the crackling energy taking on a red hue. He left the energy floating before his chest, and murmured, "Garjzla."

A blaze of white light appeared in his left hand. Eragon could swear that he heard music emanating from it, a soft, melodic sound. In his right hand, a blaze of black light appeared, releasing a dark, seductive thrum. He once again brought his hands together, fusing the light with the energy hovering before him, and compressed it all into a ball the size of his fist. The blaze shook violently, and he forced his muscles to hold it into place. _This is why I'm called the __**Sacred **__Lightning, _he thought, pondering for a moment on what he was about to do. He saw fear present on the faces of those around him, and focused on Murtagh. "You are a slave to Galbatorix, Murtagh," he said, and saw the acknowledgement in the young Rider's eyes. "You are a slave to him because of your true name. However, I now offer you freedom." He saw hope in Murtagh's eyes, before it was replaced by fury. "When I release this spell upon you, it will judge you based on the content of your character. It will either destroy your oaths, or bind you ever further to the Black King." He shifted his arms, released the paralysis spell, and sent the ball flying at the Rider with the words, "Domia abr du hjarta."

_Dominance of the heart._

_

* * *

_

The ball collided with his chest, and he screamed, clawing at the entry point. Dark lines appeared across his skin, and Murtagh crawled from the Rider, trying to escape the agony. The lines began to pulsate, changing color with each compression; from black, to ruby, to sapphire, to emerald… every color imaginable flashed across him before it settled on a neutral gray. He felt a great pressure build up in both his mind and Thorn's, and both roared in agony, believing their end to have finally come. He physically jerked when he suddenly felt his oaths to Galbatorix shatter. He saw Zeratide kneel by his side, and gently pull the dagger from his boot. The elf grasped the young man's fingers, and wrapped them around the dagger, before pressing the tip into his own stomach. "The choice is now yours," he said, removing his hands. Murtagh stared, and dropped the dagger. A smile crossed his lips as he and Thorn faded into unconsciousness.

* * *

Galbatorix sat silently upon his throne, feeling the occasional spikes of energy from his apprentice. Murtagh was too far away to possess, as he had when he killed Oromis, but he was close enough to feel the battle, and see what was occurring. He saw a bolt of lightning blast from the sky, and gave a twisted smile of glee when Zeratide was enveloped in the light. The smile faded as he saw Zeratide still standing, and found Murtagh unable to move. He heard the Rider's words, and felt a deep fury build as he saw the attack fly to his apprentice. He screamed in rage as he felt the bond suddenly snap. "So much depended on him," he said to himself, crushing a portion of his stone throne in his hand. He sighed, and rubbed his hands through his hair. "No matter," he thought, staring at the sleeping dragon across the room. "I have other methods of killing you, Zeratide. Your greatest weakness is your power, after all…"

* * *

Zeratide stared at the young man and dragon passed out in front of him, and gently grasped his arm as he felt a searing pain. He gently pulled on his sleeve, and saw that the curse left from Kialandi and Morzan had darkened and spread further. _I'm running out of time, _he thought, covering the mark. Eragon ran toward him, and Saphira bounded over as well, crossing the distance in two strides. Eragon pulled level with him a few seconds later, and Arya arrived with him. Zeratide saw awe on their faces, and smiled. "So," he began, managing to stand to look at his daughter and apprentice, "care to explain why you two were sharing a bed?"

* * *

Nasuada was lying in bed, sleeping softly as the Nighthawks stood before her door. Her dreams were gentler now; Zeratide's ceasefire had allowed her to lessen her constant worry over the Varden's fate. She stirred as she heard the Nighthawks smash their weapons against their shields as they did when someone wished to speak with her. A young messenger boy ran in, and she recognized him as Jarsha. She motioned for him to give her the message, and he stared pointedly at the ceiling. "Lady Nasuada," he said, trying not to stare at her in her slightly revealing nightgown, "the Rider Zeratide has just defeated Murtagh, and has captured him and his dragon."

She froze, and felt an old passion stir. She excused the young boy, and quickly conveyed orders to the Nighthawks, demanding her horse and an honor guard. She quickly stripped, and donned one of her battle-dresses, and had her maid, Farica, help her into her armor. She strapped a scimitar to her waist, and placed a gold circlet upon her brow as she stepped into the breaking dawn. Her horse was waiting, and she quickly climbed on, the human and dwarf Nighthawks taking their places on her sides with their own horses, her two Urgal guards taking the front and rear on foot. She nodded to the captain, and they charged forward, heading toward Murtagh.

* * *

_Murtagh opened his eyes, finding himself standing on a blank field. He frantically turned in every direction, trying to determine where he was, and he saw Thorn appear near him. He ran over to him, and wrapped his arms around his dragon's neck, holding onto him as if he were dangling from thousands of feet. He heard a slight rustle, and turned, finding Zeratide standing several feet away, displaying no signs of their battle. "Where am I?" he asked, looking around as Thorn gazed evenly at the Rider. Zeratide smiled, and replied, "In my mind. Or yours, depending on your perspective. Others would claim we are meeting on an entirely different level of consciousness. But that, my young Rider, is philosophy, something we have no time for. I am here to find out what it is you wish to do now. Nasuada is coming and she will try to force you into the Varden. What do you wish to do?"_

_Murtagh paused for a moment, and turned to Thorn. _What do you wish, my friend?

We were slaves once, and I have no desire to become one again. However, we have committed crimes that must be repaid, and I seek out that worm's blood to slake my thirst.

_He nodded, and turned to Zeratide. "I wish to fight Galbatorix," he began, "but not to be a slave to the Varden. And I don't want to destroy the government, just its leader. The system is sound, even if the ruler isn't."_

_Zeratide nodded, and said, "An admirable answer. I must go now. When you wake, seek me out. I will train you further." He disappeared, and Murtagh felt the plane begin to fade. He closed his eyes, and felt a small semblance of peace drift over him._

_

* * *

_

Eragon stood to the side, a blush on his face as Arya and Zeratide yelled back and forth; Arya because of embarrassment, Zeratide because it amused him. He turned to Saphira, and asked, _Are you going to help me at all? _He heard her chuckle, before she looked pointedly away, cleaning her scales. He gave an exasperated sigh, and turned back to the two elves in front of him, jumping when he saw them staring at him. "What?" he asked, nervously licking his lips.

"I am only going to ask once, Eragon. Did you and my daughter mate last night?" Zeratide asked, his voice dangerously low. His hand rested on the Kveykva's pommel, and Eragon had no doubt that if he had slept with Arya, the point would be located somewhere in his body. He shook his head, and said, "We did not." He repeated it again in the Ancient Language, and saw Zeratide's eyes soften with satisfaction.

"You have my trust then, Eragon," he said, walking over to Ammadden. He climbed into the dragon's saddle, and turned to the young Rider. "So long as you treat Arya right, I will not interfere." As Ammadden crouched, he added as an afterthought, "But I will still tease you!" Eragon watched as the pair took off, and jumped slightly when he felt Arya lace her fingers in his.

"You have my trust as well, Eragon," she said, kissing him gently on the cheek. "I was testing you last night," she admitted, turning her gaze from him out of shame. "I wished to be sure that you would not take advantage of me, and you proved yourself." He gently cupped her cheek, and kissed her forehead, turning as he heard Nasuada's and her guard's horses. Arya kissed him once more, before they stood side by side, waiting for the entourage.

* * *

Murtagh slowly stirred to consciousness, and opened his eyes. He jerked when he saw that four swords were held to his neck, and that he was surrounded by men, dwarves, and Urgals. He cast a glance at Thorn, and saw that his dragon was also surrounded; twenty spearmen circled him, poking at him whenever he moved. _Easy… _he told the agitated dragon. He heard a mental grunt, and turned back forward, facing a figure climbing off a horse.

He felt his jaw drop when he saw it was Nasuada.

It had been so long since he had seen her, but she was as beautiful as he remembered. He quickly shut his jaw, and noticed the slightest sign of a smile on her lips. Before she was able to speak, he quickly said, "Zeratide has freed me. I am no longer bound to Galbatorix, and I wish to fight with the Varden."

He saw those around him stiffen, and sensed disbelief from many of those surrounding him. He saw Eragon and Arya off to the side, Eragon smiling, and quickly repeated it in the ancient language. Nasuada gazed at him, her expression blank, but he could almost feel her whirring thoughts.

"You will face punishment for what you have done, Murtagh. You understand this, correct?"

"Yes."

"Very well then. You will give the Varden any information you have that would be useful in fighting Galbatorix. Afterward, you will face a hundred lashes due to your Rider resiliency. When you have faced punishment, you will train with Eragon and Zeratide. Do you accept these terms, Murtagh, Son of Morzan?"

He flinched when she mentioned his father, but he nodded all the same. He stepped over to Thorn, ignoring the spears brandished at him, and pulled out the Eldunarya he had stashed in the bags. "A gift to the Varden's Riders," he said, placing them in front of the Queen of the Varden.

It was Nasuada's turn to gape, and she nodded, motioning for her guards to gather the crystals. Eragon stepped forward, and Murtagh nodded, before following, knowing he was being led to a cell.

* * *

Inside of Saphira's saddle, a tired mind began to stir. He still felt the ache of what he had lost, and desperately wished that he could escape the prison he was now doomed to exist in forever. _Oromis…_ he moaned, sorrow emanating from the very crystal he was trapped in.

Glaedr was awake.

* * *

Well, there you have it folks. Hope you liked it. Please Review. Zeratide, out.


	13. Want

Hey everyone! I hope you're ready for the newest chapter of Du Sundavar Freohr, because here… we… go…

* * *

_Previously…_

_Inside of Saphira's saddle, a tired mind began to stir. He still felt the ache of what he had lost, and desperately wished that he could escape the prison he was now doomed to exist in forever. _Oromis…_ he moaned, sorrow emanating from the very crystal he was trapped in._

_Glaedr was awake._

_

* * *

_

Zeratide flew above the clouds upon Ammadden, and closed his eyes, spreading his arms to either side. He sighed as he felt the wind tear through him, bringing about a sense of peace. _So many things that seem troublesome on the ground are left on the ground, _he thought, opening his eyes. _This is my favorite part of being a Rider._

_You always loved to fly, even before I hatched for you. That's what led you to have the natural Parkour abilities that Vrael refined in you, _Ammadden said, humming in satisfaction as muscles and sinews stretched and slacked in physical exertion. _You jumped because for a precious moment, you would feel what it was like to fly._

_And when I finally flew with you, my friend, all else faded away._

_Do you ever regret my hatching for you?_

_Never, _he said, without even a second's pause. _Whatever life I may have had, it could never have been as good as the one I gained. After all, if it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have met Aelana, and we wouldn't have created Arya._

He felt a small energy suddenly appear at the edge of his senses, singing a lamentation. Ammadden sensed it too, and he jerked, nearly throwing him from the saddle. _That's master Glaedr! _Ammadden nearly shouted, looping back around.

_He has finally awakened!_

_

* * *

_

Murtagh finally reached the cell, and sat down upon the cold, hard stone floor. _Compared to the dungeons in Urû'baen, this is like a castle, _he thought, stretching out his legs. He reached out with his mind until he found Thorn, and sighed. _What do you think?_

_I think that we were let in far too easily. And I can hardly believe their sentence. A hundred lashes? We faced less daily in Galbatorix's training._

_I agree. Something is definitely going on here. If it were Ajihad, I guarantee that he would have been merciless. Nasuada is a capable leader in her own right, but I sense something is clouding her judgment in this. If I were in her position, or even Eragon's, I would want far more punishment inflicted upon the person who did me such wrong._

_And that's another thing. Eragon. We have been forced to fight him, we killed Hrothgar; we have done so much to him, and yet he welcomed us with open arms._

_I believe that Eragon is changing, becoming more forgiving. He has finally won Arya over; that alone would be enough to make any man happy for the rest of his life. But I wonder, will he have the strength to kill Galbatorix when the need arises?_

_Galbatorix will certainly try to kill him – and us – now._

_I know. And yet, I have to admit the man was cunning. Something makes me feel an ominous sense of foreboding, Thorn; it is as if by losing us, he has unlocked a valuable piece. To him, we are but pieces on the chessboard; I feel as though we are the pawn that is moved to allow the queen to leave confinement._

_I have no doubt that he has contingencies. But realistically, the only one I see is the final egg, and the Eldunarya; the egg has gone at least a hundred years without hatching. I doubt he has a member of his court the dragon would hatch for. As for the Eldunarya, he has as much power as he had before, minus the precious few we stole._

_Nevertheless, we must be wary, Thorn._

A man walked in with a loaf of bread, a bowl of soup and a pitcher of water; he set the food down, before he left. Murtagh tore ravenously into the food; the energy to summon lightning had taken far more power than he had planned, even with the use of his own Eldunarya. By sending fire into the sky, he had allowed the heat to build up energy, creating a thundercloud. All he had to do afterward was redirect the lightning; the entire process took much less energy than it would have to just create the lightning out of thin air, but it was still trying.

He finished the food, and lay on his side, before slipping into sleep, his dreams filled with images of him and Thorn flying free.

* * *

Eragon stood outside of the compound that housed the dungeons, Arya by his side. Saphira sat on his other side, staring at a chained Thorn. Eragon sighed, before walking back to his tent. "Why did you welcome him back so easily?" Arya asked, looping her arm with his. He sighed, running his free hand through his hair.

"It wasn't easy, Arya. I wanted nothing more than to kill him. But then I thought; he grew up in a world so different from my own. I showed Sloan mercy, a man I never got along with. Murtagh and I are half-brothers; we were once friends. Many of his actions weren't his choice; his fate was destined when my mother was unable to spirit him away to Carvahall. He grew up under Galbatorix's influence; I grew up under my uncle's. The choices that were his to make, I believe that he made them because he believed it to be the right choice for the right reasons. All I know is that I couldn't do anything but forgive him. And as a Rider, I am supposed to show mercy."

_You have grown wise, little one, _Saphira said, humming deep in her throat. _I believe that neither of us would recognize the young farm boy who found my egg in the Spine. _She paused, before her body suddenly tensed, becoming agitated. _I think Master Glaedr is awake!_

Eragon heard a lamentation at the edge of his senses, barely catchable, before he said, _I sense it too! _He opened the saddlebags just as Ammadden landed next to him in a cloud of dirt, Zeratide leaping gracefully from the saddle. "I sensed Glaedr," he said, landing next to Eragon. Eragon nodded a confirmation, before lifting the cloth-covered orb out of the saddlebag. He unwrapped it, and pulled off his right glove with his teeth. Zeratide reached forward, and nodded; the two Riders gingerly placed their hands on the orb.

* * *

_They stood in a dark field, surrounded by a deep, throbbing hum. Flashed of memory surrounded them; they saw Glaedr's first few hours of life, where he had curled up next to Oromis in a room on Vroengard; they saw a battle where he scorched an entire battalion of raiders; they watched as he taught the younger generation, laughing at their antics; they saw the fighting during the Fall, and flinched when his leg was torn off._

_A white outline appeared before them, reminiscent of Glaedr's form when he was alive. The two bowed before him, and he seemed to pass over them for a moment, observing a memory only he could see. _It was my fault, _he said after some time._ Oromis is dead, and it is my fault! _he roared, and the Riders flinched at the fury in his voice._

Oromis is dead, master, but not by your hand, _Zeratide said, cautiously attempting to soothe the dragon. _Galbatorix in his accursed power took control of Murtagh, and tore Oromis, but it is not even Galbatorix's fault. Kialandí is the one who broke Oromis. If it wasn't for her, Oromis wouldn't have had a seizure. In fact, if it wasn't for her, Oromis may have been able to stop the Fall. Kialandí is responsible, and Brom made sure she paid the price.

_Glaedr was silent for a moment, before he moved on, observing yet another memory. _I did not know you were still alive, Zeratide. Your arguments hold merit, as they always did, but that does not excuse the fact that I was unable to save him. Nor does it change the fact that because of my own blind rage, I caused myself to be killed. _Zeratide was silent, and Glaedr gave a nod, before turning to face them._

I am of little use to the two of you. I will not be able to aid you, Eragon, to my fullest potential until years from now, when this orb is fully saturated. Zeratide, there is nothing for me to teach you; you became a Rider, and then learned from Vrael himself. You are more powerful than Oromis or I ever was. And I know that you are teaching Eragon, which eliminates the need for me to teach. What would you have me do?

Endure, _Zeratide said, his gaze fierce and determined. _There will always be a purpose for you, Glaedr. Murtagh has joined us; you could teach him and Thorn. When you are fully saturated, then you will be able to assist in powerful spells the likes of which Eragon could never achieve alone. If we defeat Galbatorix, we could rebuild the Riders, and you could teach them the Old Ways better than I ever could. And if you are absolutely sure that there is no reason for you to remain, then I shall break the Eldunari and free you.

_Glaedr observed them for another period of time; it seemed as though they spent hours under his gaze. When he moved, it was only to watch another memory float by. When he finally spoke, it was with the weariness of a man bearing the world upon his shoulders._

I shall consider your words, Zeratide. Go now; leave this half-life for the world you exist in.

The world I am now denied.

* * *

Zeratide opened his eyes, and let out a gentle gasp; when he trained with Vrael, he had learned to endure the exit from Eldunarya. Eragon was not so graceful; he let out an explosive breath, and nearly flung the orb as his arms spasmed. He placed a hand on the younger Rider's shoulder, and asked, "You gonna be alright?" Eragon nodded, unable to speak. "When I trained with Vrael, he often had me communicate with the Eldunarya. I eventually grew accustomed to the exit. You will too, given enough time and exposure." He turned to Arya, who stood next to Eragon, and nodded, before leaping back into Ammadden's saddle. The dragon began to raise his wings, when Eragon called out to Zeratide. The Rider cast his gaze on the younger man, and Eragon seemed to pause for a moment, before nervously swallowing.

"Master, I understand that you may not want to, but I must ask anyway. Would you be willing to train Murtagh and Thorn with me?" Zeratide sighed, and said, "I already offered to train them, Eragon, when I spoke to Murtagh at the fringes of our minds. He has accepted." Eragon nodded, and Ammadden leapt suddenly, before rising in a near vertical ascension, his body at right angles to the ground. Zeratide threw his hands straight out to both sides, gripping with only the strength of his legs. His cloak billowed behind him, giving him the appearance of soaring eagle. Ammadden slid above the clouds, and the landscape disappeared, replaced by plains, pillars, and swirls of white.

* * *

Roran trudged through the camp, a shield hanging from his shoulders, with his hammer and a sword tucked into his belt. He passed the training rings, and returned the greetings they yelled as he passed. He rolled his shoulders, pleased that the scabs from his flogging were just about gone, replaced by relatively few scars. He finally arrived to the training ring he had reserved from Nasuada in order to work with his contingent of soldiers. The men and the Urgals present were far from friends, but he had won their loyalty when he faced Yarbog; the Urgal's defeat had earned him loyalty from the Urgals, and the men respected him even more for such an accomplishment.

He waited for a few moments, before his men started trickling in. There was still around fifteen minutes or so before the training would officially begin, but Roran had learned from Garrow to always arrive early. Carn appeared, and he walked over to the spell caster, greeting him with a rough handshake. "Think you can block the edges of the blade like Eragon does when he spars?" he asked. Roran wished to train his soldiers and himself further in swordplay by practicing, and learning; one of the men in his company was a master with the sword, and had agreed to teach his fellows his art. Carn nodded, saying he could block the blades, and Roran sent him through the ranks, blocking the edges of all the swords present in the place, beginning with Roran's. Roran pulled his shield off his shoulder, placing his arm in the straps even as it slid down. He drew his hammer, and tossed it on a pile of mats in the corner of the ring. He rolled his shoulders, before rolling his wrist, the sword slicing through the air. He traced a circle in the dirt with his boot, before choosing one man at random.

The man walked into the circle, shuffling around Roran. He wore simple clothing, and a mail hauberk hung off his shoulders. Unlike most of the warriors, he wielded his sword in a left-handed grip, with a small buckler resting on his right arm. Roran waited, licking his lips as he shifted his shield on his arm.

The man suddenly lunged, before Roran blocked the slice with his shield. His own blade came whistling through the air, colliding in a flurry of sparks with the man's sword. He spun on his right foot, dodging an upward slash at his right arm, the blade soaring past his back. Momentum kept him spinning, and he swung his left arm out, smashing his shield into the man's left shoulder. The man grunted, and stumbled, allowing Roran to smack his back with the flat of his blade. The man sprawled out in the dirt, before he managed to rise to his feet, rubbing his shoulder. Roran came in quickly with a slash, before the man parried it, gritting his teeth as he felt the pain of the movement. He quickly stabbed at Roran in order to get some room, and the moment he could, he unbuckled the straps on his buckler and switched the sword to his right. He managed to switch the buckler to his left arm before Roran came in.

The next few minutes was a blur of steel; slashing, stabbing, parrying, blocking, dodging, riposting, shield smashes… Roran finally managed to trap his opponent's sword between his own and shield, and twisted his arm, sending the blade jerking from the soldier's hand to the dirt below. He raised his sword to the man's throat an instant later, and the man surrendered, panting.

A cheer ran through the assembly, and looking around, Roran saw that all the men and Urgals had arrived. He formed them up, and began running them through drills, before he had the master come up and teach. After several hours, the group of assembled warriors was dismissed, and Roran went dashing though the camp, happy to be able to, after a day of extremely hard work, to be able to come home to Katrina. His wife, his love, the mother of his unborn child.

_Katrina._

_

* * *

_

Murtagh sat up in his cell as he heard the door creak open, and he stood as Nasuada walked in. He stood with military precision, and she looked him over, taking in his appearance with a trained eye, the eye of a commander. "You'll be happy to know that Thorn is being taken care of," she said softly, meeting his gaze evenly, "assuming, of course, that you didn't already know. He jerked his chin, indicating he knew, before Nasuada gestured to one of the two chairs in the room. "Please, sit. You may have had a bad experience with Galbatorix as your commander, but I am not he. I won't whip you just for sitting." He swallowed, and sat, never letting the rigidity of his limbs leave. Nasuada sighed, sitting in the other chair.

She gestured, and Eragon walked in, leaning against the wall of the cell. He regarded Murtagh with a sly expression one would normally see between brothers, and Murtagh couldn't help but give a sly grin in return. Nasuada said, "If you remember, I said that you would have to give us any information on Galbatorix that you could." Murtagh jerked his chin, indicating he remembered. "Now, you could tell me, but that is less efficient than having you allow Eragon to find the memories. This is for two reasons. The first is that you may overlook something as inconsequential based on your experiences, and because this is much quicker and time is not on our side. Would you agree to allow Eragon to search your memories?"

Murtagh paused, and he felt anger well up in him. _Will my mind ever be my own? _he screamed mentally, letting his despair seep across his link with Thorn. His body started to shake, and Nasuada suddenly had a scared expression on her face. Murtagh raised his head, and gritted out, "Will I ever be safe within my own mind, Nasuada? Must I let everyone know my every thought, my every memory? Am I allowed no privacy? What you are proposing would require Eragon to look through the entirety of my past, something I wish to forget. He will have to bring up, and linger in, every painful memory I have of our parents."

Eragon spoke up then, saying, "Technically, Murtagh, we only share one parent. Mother left Morzan for Brom, and I was born as a result." Murtagh whipped his head around to gape at Eragon, before face palming. He stared at the ceiling, as if staring at a god, and said, "Why? Why does everything have to happen to us? Couldn't we just have been born to a common blacksmith? A farmer in Carvahall? No, Fate just **had** to pick the two most legendary Riders in Galbatorix's court. And then, as if that weren't enough, Fate had to make our mother commit adultery. So we're both the sons of a whore in the eyes of many."

Eragon instantly became rigid at hearing his mother called a whore, and Brisingr was an inch from the sheath before Nasuada shook her head almost indiscernibly. He snorted angrily, before re-sheathing the blade with a click. Murtagh sighed, running a hand through his hair before stopping halfway through. "Nasuada, may I request something from you before I am forced to subject my mind to examination?" he asked, nostrils flared in anger at what he would have to do. She nodded, and he jerked his hand, showing his fingers were stuck in a knot.

"May I take a bath?"

* * *

Eragon later stumbled into his tent an hour after the sun sunk below the horizon. His examination of Murtagh's memories had been a trying affair; he had learned many things about Murtagh he had never wished to know, and he could tell that Murtagh was loathe to have someone digging through his mind. Sure, Eragon had been far gentler with Murtagh than the Twins had been in his own mind, but Eragon himself hated to have his thoughts shared with anyone but Saphira.

_Do not let this worry you overmuch, little one, _she said, lazily yawning as he pulled his boots off. _Oh, and in case you haven't noticed, Arya is in there with you. _Eragon tried to turn to see her as he was pulling off one of his boots, but as he did so, he lost his balance and fell, crashing up against one of the poles in the fabric. He swore as he rubbed his head, and fell silent as he heard Arya's soft, tinkling laugh. Finally managing to stand and face her, his ears turned red when he saw that she was wearing nothing but one of his tunics, the hem of the garment just barely reaching the smooth skin of her thighs. She raised a single hand, and beckoned him with a smooth, slow curve of her finger.

He nearly tripped again as he tried to pull off his shirt and trousers at the same time, before he finally managed to reach her on the bed. He pulled her into a rough embrace, and pressed his lips against the smooth skin of her neck. She gasped, and slowly fell back on the bed, dragging him down with her. Eragon stopped for a moment, and pulled a blanket over his naked form, shielding the two of them from the cold night air. He traced the neckline of the tunic, leaving a trail of light kisses on the adjacent skin, and Arya started to moan and jerk beneath him. When he reached her barely-visible cleavage, her back suddenly arched, and she let out a shuddering gasp. She pushed him off of her for a moment, and quickly shed his tunic, allowing him for the first time to look at her as no man before him had.

The swell of her breasts captivated him for the better part of a minute, before his eyes hungrily traced the curve of her hips, before they roamed back to her flawless tawny skin. His hands followed his eyes a few seconds later, and Arya shivered with lust as his rough, calloused hands roamed across her. Her own hands roamed across his muscled back, and her fingers traced the place where Durza had once laid it open. She gasped as his calluses ran over her breasts. Her face became flushed, and she ground against him, begging him in.

He lined up with her, and at her nod, slowly entered into her velvety folds. He stopped when he felt himself reach a barrier, and he gave her a surprised look. She nodded, and bit her lip. He took a calming breath, and plunged deeper, breaking the barrier with one smooth thrust. She dug her face into his shoulder, and whimpered in pain, before he gently held her in his arms. After a minute, she relaxed, and he moved against her, increasing the tempo as her whimpers turned to moans, and her moans turned to quiet screams. She started moving against him, and for a moment, he thanked whatever gods existed for two things; one, for finally allowing him to receive his heart's desire.

Two, was for the Elves' flexibility.

* * *

Well, there you are guys. Hope it was worth the wait. Please Review, so I know if you loved it or hated it. Zeratide, out.


	14. Past Lovers

Hey everybody. How you doing? Hope you all are doing well. Several things to say before the story commences. To Vidar, yes, I do own a sword. It is a Marine Corp Cavalry Saber. And for those of you who haven't heard the news, the newest book in the Inheritance Cycle, appropriately titled _Inheritance,_ has finally been announced and is slated for release in November. If you _**want**_ to read a couple of excerpts released by Christopher Paolini, go to .com (Warning: Excerpts contain SPOILERS. Read at own risk). So, here's the newest chapter of Du Sundavar Freohr.

* * *

_[Eragon] moved against [Arya], increasing the tempo as her whimpers turned to moans, and her moans turned to quiet screams. She started moving against him, and for a moment, he thanked whatever gods existed for two things; one, for finally allowing him to receive his heart's desire._

_Two, was for the Elves' flexibility._

* * *

When Eragon awoke, the first thing he felt was confusion; he felt fatigued, but couldn't remember why. As he tried to move, Arya shifted against him, and the memories came flowing back to him. She looked up at him, and smiled, glowing with the aftereffects of the night's activities. He leaned over and kissed her forehead, before rolling over to get dressed. She grasped his arm, and pulled him closer, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss. He deepened it, and before he knew it, she was on top of him, impaling herself as he thrust up into her, listening to her scream in pleasure.

* * *

After some time, they both ended, and lay panting on the cot. Arya got out of the cot first, and sensually bent over to pick up her clothes, giving her lover a superb view of her figure. Eragon smiled, and sat up, the blankets falling off his torso. He stood up, and pulled on his trousers before gently placed his hands on her waist, tracing the curve of her hips. She sighed contentedly, and leaned against him, feeling his muscled chest with her shoulders. He wrapped his arms around her, and held her for a moment, inhaling the sweet scent of her hair.

They finally separated, and she pulled on her tunic, slowly pulling the cloth over her skin to allow her lover to see it for as long as possible. She kissed him one last time, and slipped out of the tent. He smiled, and picked up the belt of Beloth the Wise, wrapping it around his waist. He picked up Brisingr, and attached it to the belt. He then picked up a tunic, slung it over his shoulder, and picked up a large pot, walking outside. He set the pot down on a stump, and filled it with water through magic. He cupped his hands, capturing the water and bringing it up to his face. He quickly washed his face and torso, removing sweat and dirt from his skin. He shaved with magic, and pulled the tunic on.

He heard a slight crunch to his left, and his instincts took over. He ducked down, the blade of a dagger just passing over his hair, and swept out with his leg, knocking his attacker off balance. He pulled Brisingr from its sheathe, and grasped the hilt, managing to bring it around so that the blade rested right on the man's neck. His vision finally caught up, and he saw Zeratide lying in the dirt below him. Zeratide grunted, and managed to push Eragon off of himself, quickly rising to his feet. He drew Kveykva, and lashed out, stabbing at Eragon's collarbone. The younger Rider deflected the blade, and kicked Zeratide in the stomach, sending the elf sprawling in the dirt. He rolled backwards, and handsprung to his feet, kneeling low on the ground, and he then shot forward, slamming his shoulder into Eragon's stomach. They rolled around in the dirt, trying to get their swords around on each other, before Eragon managed to bash his Master's head against a rock, stunning the elf and allowing him to jump up and swing Brisingr around so the tip rested on this throat.

Zeratide grinned, and raised his unarmed hand in surrender. Eragon helped his Master to his feet, and sheathed Brisingr. "Very good, Eragon," Zeratide said, dusting off his clothing. "Your reaction time has improved greatly since we've begun." Eragon nervously thanked his Master, worried that the Rider may have seen Arya leaving his tent. Zeratide took a look around the camp, and said, "While we're training today, I would like Saphira and Ammadden to practice flying. Saphira I understand is a gifted flyer, but there is a fundamental difference between normal flying, and the stealth flying required for future missions I have planned for you." Eragon nodded, and relayed the message to Saphira.

_I will go, _she said, swiping her tail through the dirt as she stood. _It will be good for me to practice stealth. And not one word! _she exclaimed as Eragon began snickering. Zeratide motioned for Eragon to follow him as he started walking off toward the training fields. Eragon quickly ran back inside to grab Undbitr, and followed the elf, excited to finally be participating in more training.

* * *

As they walked between the surrounding tents, Zeratide asked, "Are you nervous, Eragon?"

The young Rider nearly stumbled, and he managed to croak out, "Yes."

Zeratide laughed, and said, "You've good reason to be nervous, Eragon. The hopes of the Varden and those oppressed by Galbatorix rest on our shoulders, and we have far to go before we are ready."

Eragon sighed with relief, and thought, _Good, he was just talking about Galbatorix. He doesn't know that Arya and I are sleeping together yet._ The elf suddenly stopped, so abruptly that Eragon walked into his Master. Only then did Eragon notice the probe in his thoughts.

Zeratide slowly turned around, and stared with shock and outrage at the horrified look on Eragon's face. "YOU WHAT?" he shouted, and several birds shot up into the air in fear at the volume of it. Eragon took a step back, and tried unsuccessfully to speak, his mouth opening and closing like a fish's. Zeratide's nostrils flared angrily with each breath, and several sparks danced on his fingertips as he stared down at the younger Rider. For the first time, Eragon noted just how much taller Zeratide was; the elf easily stood at six-and-a-quarter feet, while Eragon himself was about five-and-three-quarters. The elf seemed unable to decide how to react to the news that his daughter had lost her virginity and Eragon took the opportunity to speak.

"Master, I swear to you, though it may not be of any comfort to you, that it was completely consensual. I would never do anything without her consent, and I swear to you that I love her with all my heart, and that I will love her till the day I die." Zeratide gazed at him with the look a judge might give a man as he was debating his guilt or innocence. Zeratide nodded crisply, and turned back around, stalking off to the training areas.

When Eragon remained motionless, the elf shouted, "Get a move on, dammit!" Eragon hurried after him, hoping against hope that he wouldn't face retribution from his mate's father.

* * *

Murtagh awoke with a yelp in his cell, sweating profusely. He had just woken from a nightmare of Galbatorix standing over him, tearing him apart for disobeying his orders to kill Eragon and Zeratide. His breath slowly calmed from frantic panting to a slow, measured breathing as he tried to relax. _It was just a dream, _he thought, and for the first time since he and Thorn were bonded, he realized just how significant being out of Galbatorix's hold was. _If we were still bonded, than that wouldn't have been a dream, and it would have occurred many times already._ He reached out to Thorn, and felt the young dragon's eagerness to feel his Rider.

_How are you faring, Thorn? Have they given you enough food and water?_ he asked, worried for his partner's health.

_I… I just can't explain how excited I am, Murtagh,_ the youngling communicated, and Murtagh could feel excitement flooding from their bond. _I feel so… hopeful. That's unfamiliar to me, my friend._

_I understand, Thorn. Again, did they give you enough food and water?_

_Bah! You worry like an old hen,_ the youngling teased, before saying, _and don't worry. When they found out that we're going to be serving the Varden, they brought me enough meat that you'd think I was King of all Dragons!_

_Don't let it go to your head, Thorn, _he warned, stretching in his cell. _Get too arrogant and you'll find that you become an easy target._

_I know, I know. Still, you have to admit, we're being treated better here than we ever were in the King's Court. And all off it because Nasuada has a crush on you, Murtagh._

Murtagh's face turned red, and he spluttered, trying to get his words out before he remembered he was communicating through thought. _That is not true, Thorn! She's just grateful to have another Rider, that's all._

_If that were true Murtagh, than why would she act the way she does around you? I've seen through your eyes, little one. When she's around you, she appears happier, takes extra care with her words, holds your gaze for just a little longer, and once or twice steals a glance at your lips as if she wants to caress them with her own._

_You're imagining it, Thorn. Whatever relationship we may have had before my capture is over._ He heard the guards snap to attention, and he quickly said, _I have to go Thorn. Listen if you wish, but do not speak; I need to concentrate. _He felt Thorn's reluctance, but the dragon receded in his mind. Murtagh stood, and a few seconds later, the iron grille opened, allowing Nasuada to walk in. Murtagh swallowed nervously, remembering what Thorn said. Having heard it, he noticed the little signs he had mentioned; her gaze seemed to linger for just a fraction of a second longer than was necessary, and when she stood still, he noticed that her stance was just altered enough to show off her figure, yet still look dignified. Her lips curled upward in an alluring smile, and he realized that she had been waiting for him to notice.

"Hello, Murtagh," she said, and her eyes softened slightly as she said his name. He decided to play her game as well, and bowed before her, taking her hand and kissing it in greeting.

"Nasuada," he said, his voice smooth and enthralling. A twinkle appeared in her eyes as he rose, and she continued.

"I have come here for a reason Murtagh. As you wish to serve the Varden, you must be trained. I know Zeratide extended an offer, and I am here to take you to the training grounds. I would observe what it is you can do." Murtagh grinned, and nodded, pulling on a shirt, watching her mouth turn in a slight pout. He walked up to her, and leaned over so his lips were floating by her ear.

"I can show you that. And when do you want to see my fighting skill?" he asked, wagging his eyebrows slightly. She giggled, and walked out, motioning for him to follow.

* * *

Eragon followed Zeratide as the elf stalked onto the training field the magicians used to practice their magic, and saw that the surrounding fields were full of warriors who stopped to observe the goings-on between the two Riders. Zeratide strode to the center of the field, and turned facing Eragon. "What you and I will be practicing today, my young apprentice, is how to defeat your enemies in a wizard's duel. Now, from what I gather, Brom and Oromis told you a bit about the concept, am I correct?" Eragon nodded. "Very good then. When I count to three, you and I will begin a mental grapple. When one of us breaks through the other's guard, the round is over, and we begin again. Are you ready?" Eragon nodded again, and the elf began counting. "In three… two… one."

Instantly, Eragon felt Zeratide battering against his mind, and he threw up barriers, before jabbing at Zeratide's mind in return. He found his probe deflected rather than blocked, and in his brief moment of surprise, his barriers wavered, and Zeratide made a charge at them. Eragon managed to get them back up before they could be breached, but Zeratide's probe continued, slipping underneath without stopping. Eragon's limbs snapped to his body as Zeratide shrouded his mind. A moment later, his body was freed, and his mind was his own again. "Not bad," Zeratide said, casually rubbing his knuckles against his chest. "But not great. When you are in a wizard's duel, a deflection of a mental probe is something that you may very well come across. Only skilled duelists can do it, but Galbatorix has had a century to hone his craft." Eragon nodded, and Zeratide counted down again.

This time, Eragon initiated the attack, launching for Zeratide's consciousness. Just before he reached it, he stopped, and grinned as Zeratide attempted to deflect the probe, unprepared for Eragon's sudden stop. Eragon took advantage of the distraction to quickly slip between the rapidly closing barriers and surround Zeratide's mind. He felt his Master's enthusiasm at his success, before he removed himself from the elf's mind.

"Very good, Eragon," Zeratide said, smiling slightly in spite of his foul mood. "You prove yourself Brom's son by your adaptability. By using your opponent's skills against them, you managed to gain entry into my mind, which is a considerable feat. Now, again!"

* * *

Murtagh followed Nasuada silently as her Nighthawks surrounded her so he could not see her, and another regiment surrounded him, prepared to kill him at the slightest provocation. He walked with his back straight, his hands clasped behind his back to show he wouldn't reach for his weapons, and walked with a proud and powerful stride, showing he meant business. Civilians stared at him as he went past, and as they walked, he observed the damage the siege had done to the city. He saw that some of the walls surrounding the city were cracked, and he noticed the frame to the entrance of Lady Lorana's tower was sagging slightly. He heard Nasuada speaking to him, and he focused back on her.

"I received a report on what Zeratide will be training you in today, Murtagh. Tell me, how good are you at a wizard's duel?" Murtagh's eyes widened in surprise, and he thought for a moment, remembering the rare occasions he had ever needed to combat an enemy magician.

"I can duel Eragon into a stalemate. Send me against Galbatorix though, and you can't expect anything." She nodded, and stopped as they reached the training field. The guards dispersed, and he saw Zeratide and Eragon standing motionless in the center of the field.

Eragon flinched, and Zeratide suddenly shifted, before turning to the assembled group. "Lady Nasuada," he said, bowing. He cast his gaze on Murtagh, and said, "Get out here, Murtagh. Your training advances now." Murtagh stepped forward, and instantly felt a probe battering at his mind. His iron defenses were up in a flash, stopping the probe cold. He felt the elf surround his mind, not entering, but forming a buffer to prevent counterattack whilst trying to find an entrance. Murtagh managed to keep walking, and once he reached the center, the force of the probe doubled, and he tried to find a gap through the blanket surrounding his thoughts. He finally managed to slip through a gap, and slipped into Zeratide's mind as the elf was distracted trying to remove the shroud.

He gasped as he entered the elf's mind, hearing the music that made up the sound of all elves' minds. Zeratide's sound was a deep, hypnotic sound, and as he listened, he felt as if the entire world's sadness echoed in the tune, as well as the entire world's hope. He felt himself pulled from the elf's mind, and found himself staring back through his own eyes at the world around him. He saw Zeratide nodding, and he focused back on the elf.

"Very good," Zeratide said, rubbing his jaw for a moment. "Now I want you and Eragon to both attack my mind. Working together, you two are to try and break in. Note that I have been going easy on you. You will find my mind much harder to enter this time around."

* * *

The lessons went on like that for hours longer, until the two students could not only enter Zeratide's mind, but work cohesively to break into a stronger mind, create barriers that even Zeratide had difficulty slipping past, deflect a mental probe, and break into the minds of two opponents at the same time. By the end of the lesson, the two young Riders were combating the mental strain of the act, while Zeratide had a slight headache.

"Now, I want you two to remember one thing," he said, brushing dirt off his cloak. "When you engage in extensive mind combat like trying to break into the minds of two combatants while simultaneously trying to protect your own mind and communicate with your dragons, you're going to feel some considerable mental strain. The trick is to keep practicing. Then you'll only feel a slight ache."

Nasuada stepped forward, and Zeratide turned to her, crossing his arms as he observed her in the coming twilight. He rubbed his temples, before he murmured, "Heill." He sighed in relief as the pain receded, and waited for her to speak.

"You have my gratitude, Zeratide, for training our Riders," she began, politely inclining her head to the elf. "I fear that had you not appeared, we would have been sorely underpowered when we finally reached Urû'baen. Now, thanks to your ceasefire, we have eleven months until we must combat them again."

"I sense that you have a task for me," Zeratide said, staring levelly at the dark-skinned woman before him.

She smiled slightly, and replied, "Quick to the cut, I see. Very well. In order to defeat Galbatorix, we need to find a way to remove him from his Eldunarya, or to render them useless to him. I would request that you work on the project with Eragon."

"No."

Everyone turned to stare at him with shock, surprise, and outrage. Before Nasuada could respond, Zeratide said, "That's not the big issue at the present. If you want to remove the Eldunarya, you need to remove any chance of him getting another Rider. You need to get the egg. You also need records of the Empire's activities, and an espionage unit who can perform missions into the Empire without being captured, or, if they are, without incriminating the Varden."

Nasuada sighed, and rubbed her temples, responding, "And how would I go about doing this, Rider?" Zeratide raised his hand, and at his word, water collected in front of him from the air around him, freezing into a mirror.

"Draumr Kopa," he commanded, and the surface darkened, before turning into a perfect image of the Black Citadel, down to the minutest detail. The spires stabbed into the clouds, and snarling gargoyles poised on the buttresses. Nasuada gasped, and the image blurred, before showing an empty treasury. Or, at least that was what it appeared to be. As the image zoomed in, they saw that the room contained an emerald egg resting on a pedestal. The image disappeared, and the ice melted, the melt water falling into the soil.

"When I was trained by Vrael, he often took me on political missions, and encouraged me to do a little espionage while we were there. Due to that policy, I have intricate knowledge of the layout of Castle Ilirea, Tronjheim, Ellesmera, Vroengard, and many other places beside. In one week, I will conduct a raid on Castle Ilirea. I will fly in under cover of darkness, and I will steal the egg. Eragon and Murtagh will accompany me. While I am stealing the egg, Murtagh will steal enough Eldunarya to fill our saddlebags, and Eragon will use implanted memories to find the records of their expenditures. These should give us the location of their supply lines, bases, garrisons, etc." Nasuada nodded, her eyes wide, and Zeratide shrugged his cloak on, and turned to leave.

"Master, I have a question, if I may," Murtagh said, staring at the elf with his eyes narrowed slightly. Zeratide motioned for him to continue, and Murtagh said, "A person can only scry that which they have seen before. So where have you seen this egg? And why did you not take it before?" Everyone looked curiously at the elf, and Zeratide sighed, his shoulders sinking slightly.

"Because I was its carrier."

* * *

_In an instant, Nasuada, Eragon, and Murtagh felt their barriers casually pushed aside. They felt a number of memories pressed gently against their minds, before they burst in, overflowing._

_Zeratide was younger, his body at the height of its strength. The sky was covered in roiling smoke, and dark, black clouds. The few patches of the sky that were visible were a bloody red. Dragons of every color darted back and forth, fire pouring from their maws, scorching the ground with a scar that wouldn't heal for decades. Zeratide ran through the pillars of flame, dressed in a set of matte-finished plate armor, smeared red with gore. An elf woman charged with him, wielding a violet blade. The two cut down opponents left and right, Zeratide carefully protecting a pouch dangling at his side. The two finally managed to come to a spot away and hidden from the fighting, and they collapsed, gasping. Zeratide mopped his brow with his sleeve, and his eyes blanked for a moment before he said, "Ammadden is on his way. How are you doing, Kialandí?"_

_All three jerked in recognition of the name, and the elf woman lifted her head, a charming smile crossing her delicate face. Her hair was blond, and reached just above her waist. She had a very womanly figure, displaying large breasts and hips, while also displaying a warrior's body. She wore a brown tunic with a neckline stopping just above her cleavage, and her trousers clung to her legs like another layer of skin. "I'll survive," she purred, and her voice dripped with lust, bringing shivers to the spine. "I still don't know, however, why you brought me on this thrice-blasted raid, or what we even gained." Zeratide looked around him, and carefully opened the satchel, displaying a large emerald egg, crisscrossed with white veins in a pattern resembling a star sapphire held to the light._

_Kialandí gasped, and she carefully cradled the precious object in her arms. She gazed into his eyes, and pulled him forward, enveloping his lips with her own. She placed the egg back in its pouch, and wrapped her arms around him, and pulled him down on top of her. The kiss went deeper and deeper, until she wanted more. She removed her tunic, revealing her considerable bust to her lover. More and more clothing came off, until they wound up rutting on the battlefield, the sound of metal clashing with metal surrounding them. When they were finished, they dressed. Ammadden arrived shortly after, and they made their escape._

* * *

_Zeratide appeared before them then, his face grim. "Before I returned to Ellesmera, and entered a relationship with Aelana, I was in a relationship with Kialandí. When we ended our relationship, it wasn't quite on the best of terms, and that later came back to bite me in the ass."_

* * *

_Another memory appeared, this time of Vrael and Zeratide in a room lit only by candlelight. For the first time, the three __**really**__ took in the appearance of the legendary Rider. Vrael's hair was a midnight black, cut so it ended halfway down his neck and framing his face. He had a strong jaw, with a thin scar running along the right side. His eyes were a startling emerald, and his skin was a tawny shade. He wore a forest-green tunic, finely cut, and with stitch work depicting his dragon, Eridor. His trousers were black, of equally fine design. He and Zeratide gazed with affection and love, respectively, at the woman lying in the bed beside them. At further inspection, it was revealed to be a very pregnant Aelana, obviously in the final stages of labor. A cry broke out, and Arya entered the world._

_As a nurse shooed them from the room, Vrael turned to Zeratide, and his face became grim, hard lines forming around the corners of his mouth. Outside the door, Vrael spoke to Zeratide. "The Wyrdfell are coming, my Apprentice. Galbatorix will challenge me, and I fear that I may not survive. He has broken the minds of the Eldunarya, and he has broken the Riders."_

"_With your permission, Master, I would fight him," Zeratide said, bowing his head before his mentor. "Brom is broken because of Saphira's death, a death that would not have occurred if not for him. And I have the power to defeat him Master." Vrael gazed out the window of the castle on Vroengard, observing the roiling black waves reflecting the light of the silver moon. He sighed, and reached into the pack on his shoulders. He pulled out the emerald egg the young elf had stolen so long ago, and in a flash, Zeratide realized his Master's plan._

"_Zeratide, I want you to take this egg, and flee. I will fight Galbatorix, and I will try to bring him back to the light. But if that fails, and I am killed, then you need to make sure that the egg stays safe. You need to make sure that another will rise who can do what needs to be done."_

"_But Ebrithil, I am ready! I can kill him, if I am just given the chance!"_

"_No!" Vrael shouted, and his voice was suddenly hard with anger. "You are young, Zeratide, and quick to anger! I am old, and I am not as strong as I once was, but my mind is clear. If I fall, we need to be sure that there will be someone to take up the mantle. Someone who will be the best of us. If I fall, we need someone with my patience, my wisdom, and your power." His eyes softened, and he spoke softly to the cowed youth. "Do not believe I call you a fool, young one. I know you are wise in your own right, but I have lived for five hundred summers. You must trust me."_

_Zeratide gazed at his Master with pleading eyes, and Eragon, Murtagh, and Nasuada knew that he wished to refuse, but he sighed, and whispered just three words._

"_As you wish."_

* * *

_The next memory was on them like a wolf on a fawn. The sky took on the appearance of the first memory, dark and bloody. Zeratide fled on Ammadden from two dragons, one crimson, the other violet, and the three observers knew who it was. The Rider and Forsworn collided repeatedly, until they eventually had to land. Zeratide stood tall before Morzan and Kialandí and dueled well. He used his own blade and theirs to block and attack; once, when Kialandí slashed at his shoulder, he managed to grab and twist her wrist, using her blade to block an incoming Zar'roc while she still held it. He took advantage of Morzan's surprise to lop off the tip of finger. Before too long, however, Kialandí managed to duel him into a corner, and worked a piece of black magic. The incantation was lost over the roaring wind, and Zeratide screamed in pain as his arm erupted in violet flames, runes and burns covering his skin. Morzan sheathed Zar'roc, knowing it was over, and removed the egg from Ammadden's saddlebags, ignoring the dragon's own thrashing from the mental feedback._

_He climbed into his dragon's saddle, and called to Kialandí, "Finish whatever you need to do, and meet me back at the rendezvous point." With that he took off, and the two former lovers were left alone. Zeratide gasped in pain, and Kialandí bent over him, a wide grin on her face. Her new outfit consisted of a pair of black trousers similar to her original, covered from the knee up by a battle-skirt. Her tunic had been replaced by a shirt that revealed her stomach, and had a circle in the center displaying a considerable amount of her breasts. She straddled him, and dug her fingers into his chest, moaning as she saw his pain._

"_Do you feel it, Zeratide?" she whispered in his ear, gently licking the lobe. He hissed in anger, and she drew back, an amused smile on her full red lips. "So much pain, so much agony! Now you know how I felt when you left me." She ground her pelvis against him, and he struck her, sending her rolling on the ground away from him. She moaned, rubbing the resulting bruise with her left hand, and fondling her breasts with her right. "So rough…" she moaned, biting her lip, and he glared at her in hatred. "As horrible as you made me feel emotionally in the end, it was just so __**good**__ physically; while it lasted… no other man will ever be able to please me as you did, Zeratide."_

"_You're insane, Kialandí!" he roared, and with his last remaining strength, he cast a spell on her mind, creating the illusion of his and Ammadden's deaths. She eventually mounted her dragon, and soared off, before he finally passed out from the pain._

* * *

Well, there you have it, folks! I hope it was worth the wait. So, Zeratide has ties to the infamous Kialandí, and the Queen of the Varden has a thing for everyone's favorite Inheritance bad boy. You know I won't know how I did until you click that little button that says review, so come on… do it… you know you want to…. Until next time!

-Zeratide, out.


	15. Night of Passion

-Hey everybody, how you doing? I have currently shifted all focus from my other stories to this one, so I apologize if you were wishing to see more of the others soon. I will try to finish this one as quickly as I can without sacrificing plot. Now, quick word of advice. There will be a song in this chapter, and as it is a duet, it's formatted a little strange. "Quotations" is Zeratide, (Parentheses) is Aelana, and **Bold **is them both in harmony. When you reach the chorus, read it two lines at a time. I've done the best I can, but the formatting is lost in the file transfer, so if you want the real idea, _**go onto YouTube and look up Don't Let Go. It's a duet between Bryan Adams and Sarah McLachlan**_. Also, fair warning: This Chapter Contains Nudity and Adult Content. Viewer Discretion is Advised. Without further ado, I give to you, Chapter 15 of Du Sundavar Freohr.

* * *

_Previously…_

"_In one week, I will conduct a raid on Castle Ilirea."_

* * *

Zeratide was already on Ammadden as the memory finished playing for the three, and before they could respond, Ammadden had taken off, quickly ascending to the clouds. The dragon was silent, allowing Zeratide to ponder over his memories. After a time, Zeratide sighed, and shifted in the saddle, allowing his partner to speak with him.

_It never gets easier, Ammadden, _he said, his mental voice weary. _Every time I think about that damned woman, I feel… I don't know. Impure. And when I think about the fact that it was my ending the relationship that sent her spiraling into insanity… as much as I wanted too, I should have disobeyed Vrael and fought Galbatorix. The past century's suffering is on my shoulders._

_A hundred years' suffering falls to Galbatorix, little one, not you. _Zeratide chuckled at the use of the phrase "little one" to describe him, but he knew that just about everything was little compared to the gargantuan dragon whose shoulders he sat upon. _Zeratide, had you faced Galbatorix, yes, you may have slain him. But the Riders were already broken. There was no going back. And if he died, the Wyrdfell would have sought vengeance. As strong as you were, do you believe that you honestly could have survived an attack from the thirteen?_

_No, _he admitted grudgingly, _but I should have done __**something**__! And then there's Aelana… she knew of my previous relationship with Kialandí, and she accepted that, but after what the madwoman became, I feel as though I myself have soiled Aelana's honor._

_Zeratide, Kialandí was already losing her fragile sanity when you ended it, _Ammadden sighed, bringing forth the argument he had been giving for nigh on a century. _And you two were never mated. You and Aelana? That is love, little one. That is pure. That is __**true**__. Aelana cared not for your past; it was your future she wished to share with you._

_Do you love her, Zeratide?_

Zeratide gazed at Ammadden's undulating neck, eyebrow raised in confusion. _Of course I love her. I chose her as my mate, and she chose me. We created Arya, and shared as much of our lives as fate would allow us to share together._

_Then you must forget your worries. Be content in the knowledge that you are loved, and that her love for you shall never fade._

Zeratide closed his eyes to the world, rendering everything to darkness. He held strong as the wind buffeted his body in the saddle, and roared in his ears. A memory slowly surfaced in his mind, a memory of a night spent with Aelana under the stars.

* * *

_He had been courting her for a little over a year, and as Vrael had business to attend in Ellesmera, Zeratide was presented with the chance to see his love. They ran lightly through the forest, bare feet tickled by the moss. Aelana wore a dress of purest silk, gleaming white in the night air. Her laugh sounded like the most beautiful bells he had ever heard, and each time it escaped her soft throat, his every sense tingled with excitement. Finally, they stopped running, coming upon a lake glowing from the bioluminescence of its inhabitants. The water glowed a soft green underneath, streaked with blues and pinks. Her raven hair seemed to frame her face perfectly as she turned to him, and beckoned him slowly with one finger. He smiled, his eyes softening, and walked slowly toward her, his steps light through the cool sand. When he reached her, he placed one hand on her cheek, and the other on her hip, gently pulling her closer._

"_Kiss me sweet," she whispered, and he complied, his lips feather light against hers. She gasped softly, and wrapped her arms around his neck, leaning her head softly against his shoulder. He kissed her hair softly, and allowed his other hand to fall to her hip, swaying back and forth as he sang softly to her._

"_I can't believe this moment's come… it's so incredible that… we're alone… There's so much to be… said and done… it's impossible not to be, overcome."_

_Her voice softly joined his as they slowly danced into the glowing water, the water lapping softly at the hems of their clothing._

"_**Will you forgive me if I, feel this way?**__ Cuz we've just met… tell me that's okay… so __**take this feeling, make it grow**__… never let it… __**never let it go**__…"_

_(Don't let go of the things you believe in…) _

"_You give me something that I can believe in…"_

_(Don't let __**go of this moment in time…**__)_

_(Don't let go of things that you're feeling…)_

"_I can't explain the things that I'm feeling…"_

_(Don't let go…)_

"_No, I won't let go…"_

_Now they were waist deep, and little lights gleamed through the water, changing color and shade. Fireflies flew overhead, and the world seemed to glow with romantic atmosphere._

"_Now would you mind, if I, bared my soul?"_

_(Bared my soul… to you…)_

"_If I came right out and said… you're beautiful… cuz there's something here I can't explain… I feel I'm diving into driving rain…"_

_(Divin'…)_

"_You get my senses… running wild… I can't resist your sweet, sweet smile… __**so take this feeling, make it grow**__… never let it… __**never let it go**__… _

_CHORUS_

_(Don't let go of the things you believe in…) _

"_You give me something that I can believe in…"_

_(Don't let __**go of this moment in time…**__)_

_(Don't let go of things that you're feeling…)_

"_I can't explain the things that I'm feeling…"_

_(Don't let go…)_

"_No, I won't let go…"_

_They were now submersed to the shoulders in the water, and they ceased dancing, gazing into each other's eyes. Zeratide gently kissed the nape of her neck, and she gasped, shifting in the water and sending ripples throughout the glass surface. Her dress billowed in the water surrounding her, and he knew that he had found a goddess._

_(I've been waiting all my life…)_

"_All my life…"_

_(To make this moment __**feel so right**__)_

"_**The feel of you, just, fills the night… so c'mon, let's just… hold on tight…**__"_

_CHORUS_

_(Don't let go of the things you believe in…) _

"_You give me something that I can believe in…"_

_(Don't let __**go of this moment in time…**__)_

_(Don't let go of things that you're feeling…)_

"_I can't explain the things that I'm feeling…"_

_(No, don't let go…)_

"_No, I won't let go…"_

_Zeratide gently cupped her cheek, gazing into her shining eyes. He felt a stirring in his chest of such love he had never felt before, he felt as though he would burst. A tear slowly fell from her eye, and he gently brushed it from her cheek with his thumb, before tenderly kissing her lips._

_(Don't let go…)_

"_No, I won't let go…"_

_(No, don't…leeetttt… gooooo…)_

_(No, I won't let go…)_

_The song over, and finally noticing their wet clothing, the two quickly stripped in the water, throwing their bundled clothes onto the shore. Aelana playfully splashed him, before diving under and darting through the water, giving him a generous view of her body. He swam after her, using quick, efficient strokes to catch up to her. They rolled through the water, playing with each other before they finally worked their way back to the bank, lying on their backs next to each other in the shallows, their fingers entwined. Zeratide turned onto his side, and gazed at the woman before him, watching as she did the same. The water glistened on her skin, and goose bumps covered the skin above the warm water._

_He gently crawled closer to her, before he gently placed his hand on her arm, stroking her smooth skin. She smiled, and grasped his wrist. He gazed into her eyes, and whispered softly, "Every step of our story is your choice." She smiled, and moved his hand to her breasts._

* * *

He was pulled out of his memory by Ammadden performing a sharp corkscrew maneuver, causing him to quickly tighten his hold on the dragon. Zeratide turned in the saddle to see Murtagh and Eragon flying behind him, engaging in aerial combat. A quick survey showed they were merely practicing, and Ammadden joined in the fray for a small bout, easily holding his own with the younglings, despite his age. Zeratide swerved around guarded blades, using economic strikes to weaken the two half-brothers before he finished the bout with a smack across Murtagh's head and a hard jab into Eragon's stomach. The battle over, the three circled each other for a moment, before going their separate ways.

Zeratide finally landed in front of his tent, stretching his sore back before he got out of the saddle. He walked into the tent, and smiled slightly when he saw that Aelana wasn't there yet. He had a surprise in mind, and he wanted to make sure that it would blow her mind.

* * *

Eragon landed in front of his tent, and as he dismounted, his twelve guards formed up before him. Brushing the hair out of his eyes, he looked them over, for a moment. "You are all dismissed," he told them, watching as Aelana smiled gratefully at him. "When your shift comes up during the night, try not to actually come into my tent and watch me sleep this time." He murmured, "Blödhgarm," under his breath, listening to the elves snicker. Blödhgarm shrugged with his ever-present blank expression before the elves departed, an auburn-haired female remaining behind, disappearing into the shadows around the tent.

Eragon entered the tent, and found that several dozen candles were situated around the tent, giving the room a warm glow. He pulled his cloak off, and hung it on a peg in the support beam before turning to his bed. What he saw made his knees go weak and his throat feel dry.

Arya laid spread on his bed, her hair splayed beautifully around her head. She was dressed only in a smile and a sheet that was placed on her just right so as to leave nothing to the imagination. Next to his bed was a pail of ice, in which rested a bottle of wine and two crystal goblets. She slowly and lithely rose from the bed, one arm holding the sheet to cover her breasts, and the other slowly coming up. She stood, and beckoned him forward with a slender finger, leaning her hips slightly to the side. He grinned, and cast a silencing spell before he stripped down. He quickly walked over to her, wrapping her in his arms before giving her a passionate kiss. She melted into his arms, dropping the sheet and pressing her body against his. His hands slid down to her waist, and she wrapped her legs around him, supported only by the strength of his body. He sucked gently on the nape of her neck, eliciting a sigh as she shivered.

She moved against him slightly, signaling for him to enter, and a moment later he did, sheathing himself in her velvet depths. They both gasped silently as they again became one. Eragon bucked his hips, bouncing her in his arms with each thrust. Her mouth was open in a silent scream, and she tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling his face into her breasts. He gently worked his mouth on her fleshy mounds while increasing the tempo of his thrusts. Several minutes later, his calves began to burn, and he quickly increased the tempo further, intent on making it last as long as it could. Just as he felt his calves about to give way, Arya suddenly jerked against him, tightening as she released. As she screamed in ecstasy, he felt his own release just as his legs gave way, grunting as they flopped onto his cot, bouncing off the mattress. Eragon landed on his back, still sheathed in her, and Arya flopped against his chest.

A moment later their limbs stopped thrashing, and they met each other's eyes. Arya's bangs stuck to her forehead from sweat, and Eragon felt that the rest of their bodies were also covered. He smiled, and shifted underneath her, grabbing the bottle of wine. He poured it into the goblets as she sat up, rubbing against his groin, and he shivered for a moment. He handed her one of the goblets, and raised the glass.

"To Zeratide," he said, watching her raise an eyebrow in surprise and confusion. "If it wasn't for him, than we may never have finally taken this chance."

She smiled, and drank. Once his was down, she took the glasses, set them next to the bed, and began bouncing, impaling herself repeatedly. Eragon placed his hands on her hips, and groaned as the night wore on.

* * *

Zeratide finished his surprise just as Aelana walked into the tent. He turned to her, and saw with pleasure as her face lit up. Floating throughout the tent were two hundred candles, each lit with a different-colored flame. The lights cast a beautiful shade throughout the tent, allowing Zeratide to create a highly romantic atmosphere for his mate. She strode forward, gently capturing his lips with her own, before she undid the straps of her gown, the garment flowing down to the floor. She quickly undressed her mate, and pushed him onto the cot, straddling him. The rest of the night passed for them in a blur of heaving bosoms and throbbing loins.

* * *

Murtagh sat quietly in his cell, gazing at his hands. With a flick of his wrist, he surrounded them in fire, watching the roiling pattern of the flames, flowing like liquid over his skin. He released the spell a moment later, before reactivating it again, this time watching the flames act like tendrils. He heard the creak of a key being turned in the lock his cell, and he released the spell, rising to his feet as the door opened. A cloaked figure appeared before him, and beckoned him to follow. Already knowing who it was, he strode out of the cell, following the person as he was led between buildings and tents. Finally, they reached the one his entourage wanted, and the person pulled aside the flap, beckoning him in. He walked slowly in, waiting while the flap was closed before casting a silencing spell. He pulled back the hood, and whispered softly, "Nasuada."

The woman grinned, and kissed him, pulling him close. He held her gently, and listened to her gasp as he deepened the kiss. Her hands moved across his back, and he unbuckled the brooch holding his cloak on with a flick of the wrist. As the garment fell away, Nasuada grasped the hem of his scarlet tunic, and raised it over his head, tossing it to the floor. Before long, the floor was a tangled mess of clothing, and moans and groans resounded throughout the tent.

* * *

Murtagh woke just before dawn, sitting up in the cot he lay upon until he stopped, feeling an arm resting across his chest. He gazed at the ebony skin, and turned to Nasuada, gently kissing her forehead. He lay back down so as not to wake his lover, and turned his head, glancing around the tent. To his left was the scarlet cloth that made up her pavilion. To his right, a small curtain blocked this section off from the rest of the pavilion so as to allow some privacy. He cast a small spell, and the curtain rolled back, revealing the contents of the pavilion so that he could see everything but the door. He saw that it was rather bare, save for chairs, maps, and a desk. He felt Nasuada move against him, and he turned to her, watching her as she slowly woke. She removed her arm from his chest to clasp the sheets to her breast, her other arm resting under his neck. He sat up, and she followed, gazing at his muscled profile. Her left hand absently traced along the scar on his back, and he tensed for a moment, his nostrils flaring and a vein in his neck pulsing as if he were in pain.

He relaxed a moment later, letting out a small explosive breath as Nasuada pulled her hand away from the old wound. She looked at him askance, before he explained, "Morzan gave me the scar during my childhood. It sometimes pains me. Before now, the last time was about five years ago…" his expression went blank for a moment as he was lost in memories, before Nasuada kissed his lips. He deepened the kiss, before she pushed him onto his back and straddled him. She began grinding against him, before he plunged into her folds. Bracing herself by placing her hands on his hips, she began bouncing, ramming him deeper with each descent. He placed his hands on her hips, pulling her down further with each of her descents.

After sometime, Murtagh felt his loins begin to coil. In one swift move, he rose, flipping Nasuada so she lay on the cot. He began to thrust into her, the edges of his vision turning white with each. Just as he gave one final thrust, and she tightened against him in the throes of her own orgasm, the opening to the tent was flung open, and Jörmundur strode in. The elder General staggered for a moment as the scent of sex reached his nose, and turned when he heard Nasuada's moan. He gaped at the two for a moment, and Murtagh realized he had forgotten to close the curtain after opening it. As the grizzled General called in a contingent of armed Nighthawks, Murtagh sighed inwardly. _This is going to be a long day._

* * *

When Eragon came to full awareness from his waking dreams, the first thing he noticed was the disheveled interior of his tent. His clothes were scattered across the floor, and the shirt that Arya had worn had somehow found its way under his desk. Several dozen scrolls were strewn about on the floor beside the desk, testament to the round they had done on the desk before returning to the cot. The sheets themselves were wrapped tightly around them, restricting their movement. He felt that his legs were numb, and he shifted, trying to send some blood back into them. As he did, he discovered he was still inside his mate when he wound up thrusting into her. Arya woke beneath him, gazing at him in confusion before she came back to full awareness. She moaned in pleasure at her wake-up, before she wrapped her arms around him and kissed his lips.

Eragon smiled, before he tried to crawl out of the blankets. Instead, he wound up accidentally rolling off the cot, bringing Arya down with him. She yelped as she fell, landing on Eragon. She looked down, and saw that she was smothering him with her breasts. She gasped when he suddenly began nibbling on the flesh, before thrusting into her folds. "I don't think we have time," she whispered, pulling her breasts out of his face. He sighed, before pulling out and trying to crawl out of the blankets. When he was unable to crawl out, she tried to exit, finding that she was caught as well. "We're going to need a little help," she said, blushing slightly in embarrassment.

They heard a rumbling outside, before Saphira's head snaked in through the front, gazing at them unblinkingly. Her nostrils flared as she took in the scent of sex, and her eye reflected the scene around them.

_In a little trouble, are we little one? _she asked, making her strange hiccupping laugh. Eragon blushed before he nodded, trying to escape once again. Arya let out a sultry moan as he brushed against her again, instantly clasping a hand over her mouth a moment later, her blush reddening further. Saphira leaned her head in closer, opening her maw to display her rows of fangs. She carefully brought one to the cloth, and ran it along the edge, cutting through the material with a loud rip. When the cocoon was finally open, the smell of sex and sweat intensified, and she reared back, bumping her nose against the ground as she sneezed. Eragon quickly pulled on some clothes, kissed Arya on the cheek, and ran out, leaping into the saddle before riding to the training grounds.

_Little one, may I ask you something? _Saphira questioned, her voice curiously blank.

_Go ahead._

_Why didn't you use magic to unwrap yourself?_

Eragon gazed dumbly at the back of her undulating neck, before blinking and smacking himself in the forehead. Saphira chuckled even more as the world swept by below.

* * *

Zeratide groaned slightly as the last part of his morning wake-up ended, Aelana descending on him one final time as she too collapsed. He gently kissed her neck, trying to control himself as the sweet scent of her sweat-covered skin reached his nostrils. She ran her fingers over the lines of his muscles, sighing as he did the same to her curves. They heard a slight rumble outside the tent as Ammadden awoke, shifting in the dirt, before Zeratide sighed, and slowly rose, carrying his love with him for a short distance. She snuggled against his chest as he stepped through the maze of clothing and burnt-out candles before he finally reached the dresser. He set her on top, and quickly pulled out a set out clothes, dressing before he pulled out a silver dress for her. He handed her the garment, and she pulled it on as he grabbed her boots.

He walked over, and knelt before her, fitting her foot into the leather. He pressed his lips to her soft skin, and slowly dragged them across as he pulled the boot up, smiling as she tilted her head back and sighed. He did the same with the other, before helping her down, and walking into the morning light with her by his side.

They climbed onto Ammadden, both headed to the training ring. Zeratide was going to practice advanced swordplay with the two in the remaining week before the raid, and Aelana was still Eragon's guard. As she nestled against his chest, his hands slowly fell to her stomach, where the slightest hint of a curve was appearing.

The two were going to have another child. _And this time, _Zeratide thought to himself, _I will be there. This time, the world will be safe for it._

_This time, there will be no Galbatorix._

* * *

Well, there you guys go. I hope it was worth the wait. Again, in order to try and finish this story up before the release of Brisingr this November, I have shifted focus from all my other stories to this one. So, I'm going to try to pump these out as fast as I can, as well as I can. **If you want to see something specific in the next chapter, You have to review now.** So, please do review. I look forward to feedback that isn't, "Update soon."

-Zeratide, out.


	16. Schemes

Hey Everybody, Zeratide here with the new Chapter of Du Sundavar Freohr.

* * *

_Previously…_

_The two were going to have another child._ And this time,_ Zeratide thought to himself,_ I will be there. This time, the world will be safe for it.

This time, there will be no Galbatorix.

* * *

Over the next week, Zeratide drilled his two apprentices relentlessly. Murtagh and Eragon soon learned that when a mission of this magnitude approached, they were to drill hard or risk death on the mission itself. Zeratide brought every brutal training method he had ever been subject to forward to the young men; when he was done with them, each would be fit to lead the Riders. Murtagh received his lashes, and went right back to his training, leaving the marks to heal on their own, with the addition of some of Angela's herbs. The three returned each night to their mates/lovers, leaving early each morning to continue training.

On the morning of the mission, Zeratide awoke a few hours before dawn, crawling over Aelana's sleeping form to step out of the cot. He kissed her forehead, watching her crawl closer to where he had been a moment before. He quickly dressed in a set of black trousers and matching sleeveless tunic. He grabbed a baldric, cinching Kveykva's scabbard to the black leather before lopping it over his shoulder where he could draw it at a moment's notice. Over his right arm he draped a heavy, black leather cape that covered the right half of his body to the knee, hiding his curse from view. He worked a golden band up to the bicep of his left arm, and a wristlet onto his left wrist. His last piece of ornamentation was a small ring he pulled from the drawer on his desk. He stared at the onyx stone for a minute, remembering the brief ceremony he had received it in.

* * *

_He stood in the very top of the tallest tower of Vroengard, gazing at the black waters of the ocean below. The waters were finally calm tonight, glassy even, reflecting the thousands of stars and silver moon in their inky depths. A lone torch sputtered in a bracket next to him, and he turned, gazing at his master. "Aelana is sleeping now?" he asked of the man. _

"_Both she and the child are resting. You have two strong girls, young one," he said, a small grin splitting his serious features. A moment later, he was serious again. "Kneel," he ordered, and Zeratide did. The Rider gazed at him for some time, before drawing his emerald blade. Vrael slowly placed the tip first upon his right shoulder, then upon his left. After a moment's pause, the tip was finally placed upon the top of Zeratide's head._

_Zeratide slowly rose, feeling a strange kind of confidence surging through him he had never felt before. Of course, he had been confident, but this… this was assured. His master sheathed his blade, before bringing his left hand to view. Opening his fingers, he revealed a silver ring gleaming in the moonlight. An onyx stone sat fixed in the metal, the rune for Rider gleaming upon the smooth surface. "By accepting this ring, Zeratide, you accept the role of the Leader of the Riders should I die." In that moment, Zeratide recognized it as the very ring that had spent the last several centuries residing on Vrael's own finger. It had been passed down from leader to leader since the days of the first Eragon, its enchantments changing it to suit each wearer. He slowly slipped it onto his finger, before the memory faded away._

* * *

Zeratide sighed for a moment, gazing at it a moment longer, before checking the reserves of energy contained within. The sheer amount, deposited by every Rider Leader since the days of Eragon, was easily enough to tear apart the entire continent of Alagaesia. Instead of doing that, he would use it to keep himself going on this mission, easily done without even scratching the surface of the vast ocean. Several other plans swirled in his mind, and as he climbed into Ammadden's saddle in the pre-dawn shadows, he began to chant quietly in the Ancient Language.

"**May my plans come to fruition, may my family come to no contrition. May my apprentices succeed in their endeavors, may the Riders come back and live forever."**

* * *

Eragon slowly awoke with a groan, stretching out on his cot. He grunted as his back cracked with an audible crack, followed by his neck. Finally rid of his stiffness, he crawled out of bed, careful to keep from waking Arya. Saphira was already awake, and reminded him of the hour. He quickly shaved, washed, and dressed before silently exiting his tent. Instantly, Blödhgarm was at his right, prepared to guard Eragon from any attack. "Blödhgarm," he murmured quietly, and the elf turned to look at him expectantly. "Zeratide, Murtagh, and I are going on a mission into the Empire. I want you to keep anyone from finding out the details of this mission from anyone; if anyone finds out that we went to the Empire, say that it is a diplomatic mission to try and recruit more soldiers. Guard Arya in my absence." The elf blinked slowly, before bowing, and murmuring, "As you wish, Shadeslayer."

He climbed onto Saphira's saddle, and she turned her head, gazing at him with one giant eye. _Little one, _she said tenderly, before nuzzling him with her nose. He laughed, and gently pushed her rough scales away from his face. She gave her strange chuckle in turn, before flaring her wings in the cool air. A moment later, the two were soaring through the night sky.

* * *

Murtagh sat in Thorn's shadow, watching his breath mist in the air before him. It was still at least two hours before dawn, but he had always been restless at night, and decided to come to the rendezvous point ahead of time. He had arrived an hour before, and now Zeratide and Eragon were set to arrive any minute. The spot was about three leagues east of Feinster; far enough away so that no one would be able to see them turn north. He absentmindedly grasped a small pendant dangling from his neck, resembling a small dragon. For a brief moment, he could close his eyes and see his mother's face shine with love as she gave him the little piece of jewelry.

* * *

_The sun was shining high in the sky as he played in the fields surrounding Morzan's castle. He was very young, only about two years old, and had yet to receive the scar upon his back. The flowers were in bloom, and he laughed in joy as he smelled the thousands of fragrances they produced. "Murtagh!" he heard a voice call, and he turned, seeing his mother upon one of Morzan's chargers, a small pony trotting along next to her. She grinned when she saw her son, and he came running to her, reaching up to grab his mother's foot in the stirrups. She laughed, and lifted him up to sit on her lap. She wrapped her arms around him, and kissed his cheek._

"_My, you're getting to be such a big boy!" she exclaimed, and he puffed out his chest in pride. They both laughed, before she pulled out a little leather string from her saddlebag. His eyes widened as he saw a small silver dragon with ruby eyes dangling from the end, and squealed in delight as she placed it around his neck. On his tiny form, the pendant hung down to his waist, but he didn't care. He wrapped his arms around his mother, before she set him on the pony and led him back to the castle._

* * *

He was much older now, and on his form, the pendant finally rested on his chest where it belonged. He ran his thumb over the rubies, feeling the faceted stones through the leather of his glove. A solitary tear slipped from the corner of his eye.

_Are you alright? _Thorn asked, his voice comforting.

_Yeah,_ Murtagh replied, chuckling slightly as he wiped his eye. _I just miss her, that's all. She was a remarkable woman._

_From your memories, I would have to agree, _Thorn said. The dragon sniffed the air for a moment, and said, _Zeratide draws near._

* * *

Zeratide gazed at the dark terrain below, his elven eyes picking out the landmarks leading to the rendezvous point. Finally, the point came into view, and Zeratide grinned slightly when he saw that Murtagh was already there. _He's early. That's a very good quality in a Rider._ Craning his ears, he heard Eragon and Saphira approaching as well. _Looks like we're all early, _he thought, checking the position of the stars. Ammadden dipped his wings, and angled toward the ground. A moment later, he landed, his bulk causing the ground to shake slightly. Murtagh sat up in the saddle, and Thorn stretched out, arching his back like a cat as Saphira landed. Eragon glanced at the two, rubbing his hands to warm them.

Zeratide jumped out of the saddle, landing nimbly on the ground. Murtagh climbed down from Thorn's saddle, and Eragon stepped down Saphira's leg. Murtagh and Eragon gathered around Zeratide, and the elf blinked for a moment as his vision flickered. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment, before murmuring a line in the Ancient Language. He felt a slight drain on his reserves, before he heard Murtagh swear. Opening his eyes, he saw the change the spell had inflicted.

First, there was Eragon. His brown eyes had changed to a shocking blue, and his jaw had rounded slightly. His dark brown hair had bleached to a shocking blond, and his skin paled. His pointed ears were round once more. "What the hell?" the Blue Rider murmured in an adolescent voice, taking in his appearance. "I don't even look like myself!" (A/N: Heehee… a cookie to anyone who gets the joke)

"That's the point, Eragon," Murtagh stated in a gravelly tone, rolling his now-brown eyes. The Red Rider's hair had changed into a dull ginger, and ginger scruff coated his lower face. His skin was slightly darker, giving the appearance of a man who spent his life under the sun drilling soldiers. Small scars dotted his arms, and his arms themselves were covered in hair. "The Red Rider, with ginger hair? Very funny, Zeratide," he deadpanned.

Finally, Zeratide himself had changed. His white hair had changed into raven locks that hung to his shoulders. His ears had rounded, and his face was angular. His eyes were silver, and reflected power. A black goatee surrounded his sly grin, and a scar ran along the curve of his jaw. His skin was a strange olive, and his body now appeared muscular to match his elven strength. He rolled his neck, a loud cracking echoing through the plains. "These disguises will assure we aren't recognized in Urû'baen," he said, his voice smooth and deep. "The energy for each disguise comes from the disguised. That way, when we have to split up, it won't kill me."

Walking back to Ammadden's saddlebags, he grabbed two bundles, and tossed them at the sibling Riders. Upon being unraveled, the bundles were revealed to be a set of clothes, gloves, and boots. "Get changed," Zeratide ordered, stepping underneath Ammadden's wing to allow them privacy.

Afterward, he stepped into view, observing the final part of their disguises.

Eragon stood wearing a pair of black trousers. Along the seam was a design of blue thread, creating a series of flame-like patterns. A dark blue tunic rested on his torso, fitting well enough to show enough muscle to deter any who would attack the young man. The shoulders were an even darker shade of blue, and a silver line ran from each shoulder to the wrist. A pair of new leather gloves ended just past the cuff, and his black molded leather boots fit his feet. A black cloak hung on his arm, and he put it on, tying the cords around his neck. He pulled the hood up, and his face disappeared into shadow.

Murtagh also wore a pair of black trousers, though the flames on his seam were red. A scarlet tunic hung regally upon his torso, a reminder that he had learned how to wear the clothes of nobility when in Galbatorix's court. Gold embroidery created an ornate pattern upon his chest. The sleeves ended at his elbows, while the leather gloves he had been provided with covered the remainder of his arms. His boots disappeared under the hem of his trousers. Pulling on his cloak, his face also disappeared into shadow.

Zeratide nodded one final time, before leaping up into Ammadden's saddle. The siblings scrabbled to get into their own as Ammadden crouched and took off.

Within minutes, all that remained in the plain was the wind, sending dust into spirals.

* * *

Galbatorix stood in the tallest tower of the Black Citadel, gazing at his city below. Few lights decorated the area, courtesy of the lack of people in his city. _More and more dissenters…_ he thought to himself, gazing at the gallows far below. _They've seen their fair share of tenets recently._

Many had been enlisted into his army, while several had dissented to the Varden. Factoring in those numbers, the usual deaths, criminal executions, and the city would barely last the end of the ceasefire. _Damnation!_ he thought to himself, slamming his fist against one of the parapets.

_Zeratide is still alive. With him, the Varden could remain in Feinster forever, causing me to send more and more troops to the grave. If I break the treaty and do that, then eventually there will be no line of defense for me when they finally attack. Thousands of soldiers, siege engines, magicians, and dragons… I could actually die._

_On the other hand, if I recall my troops, then they can advance through and reach Urû'baen, and gain more allies. If I leave my troops where they are, then when the year is over, this city will still be indefensible._

He sighed, rubbing his eyes with his hand. _Anger won't help me here. Options, that's what I need. Think, man. Your cunning destroyed the __**Riders.**__ Now, I can create another Shade. It would take time to break him, but it can be done. However, the Varden has TWO Shadeslayers, so it wouldn't last. A legion of Shades? No, I wouldn't be able to control that many. My painless soldiers will be able to take out a number of the Varden, but the Varden knows their weakness. They would eventually succumb._

His fingers tapped against the rough-hewn stone as the sun lit up the east, painting the sky with shades of red, orange, and pink. _Perhaps… perhaps a legion of painless soldiers. Focus them as the first line of defense. Magicians to take out the engines; one broken rope and they won't work. Infantry and cavalry after the painless men will further whittle their numbers while archers and engines will also strike. And…_. An idea suddenly came to mind, and he turned, his robes whipping around him as he began to descend the tower.

_A legion of Shades is too many, and one Shade too few. But a small team of Shades… I could control that number, and they could annihilate the Varden. But how many? _Another idea came to mind, and a grin slowly twisted its way across his face.

_I revived the Black Hand to suit my purposes. Now, I shall revive the Forsworn… Thirteen Demons, once again serving the King._

* * *

Zeratide, Murtagh, Eragon, and their respective partners arrived ten miles east of Urû'baen as the sun reached its zenith. Dismounting, Zeratide observed their surroundings as Eragon and Murtagh followed suit. _Right where I want to be… _he said to Ammadden, rubbing the dragon's foreleg. _Good job, my friend. _He felt Ammadden's tired thanks, remembering that the old dragon hadn't traveled that fast for a long time. Observing Saphira and Thorn, he was slightly worried to see that they were fairing more poorly than he had hoped. "Ammadden, Thorn, and Saphira!" he shouted, getting their attention. "A mile south of here is a lake. It's small enough to not appear on the map, but it's about a square mile. You can rest there, and hunt." The three took off, and Zeratide turned his gaze north, calculating the time to arrive at his goal.

"What do you want us to do now, Master?" Eragon asked while Murtagh adjusted the cloak so he could see properly.

"About this time of year, there _should_ be a group of herders two miles north of here. They come here from Furnost, catching wild stallions with the King's permission. About a hundred and ten years ago, I saved their people from an attack, so if their memory is as long as it used to be, then they should provide us with horses and saddles."

"And if _not?_" Murtagh asked, squinting over the plains. Zeratide fingered the pouch at his side absentmindedly, before walking toward his destination. "Ah," Murtagh replied, falling in with Eragon. The Rider tried to keep his hands still, but he kept clenching and unclenching his fists. "God, I wish I weren't here," he murmured, gazing nervously west, where he knew the familiar spires of the Black Citadel were hiding just over that horizon.

Eragon glanced sideways at his brother, and asked, "What did Galbatorix do to you in there?" Murtagh was silent, so the three kept walking, finally reaching the target area after a half hour. Zeratide crouched at the top of a hill, motioning the others to do the same. Eragon and Murtagh crawled up the side, reaching the crown and gazing over the edge. A grin crossed Zeratide's face as he saw a group of horsemen circling a group of stallions. The two younger Riders felt Zeratide reach out with his mind, and a moment later, the stallions stopped struggling, trotting up next to the herders. As the men tried to figure out what was going on, Zeratide stood, and began walking down the hill.

"Ho there!" he called, waving to the herders. The men quickly turned, aiming bows at him as the elf walked on nonchalantly. "Which one of you is in charge here?" he asked, stopping a dozen or so feet from the group. Eragon and Murtagh joined him, and the men looked even more nervous as an elderly man stepped out of the group. The man gazed at Zeratide for several minutes, before speaking in a warbling voice.

"I know of you from the old stories," he said, pointing a shaking finger at Zeratide. "You saved our home. My father used to tell me the stories."

"Yes, I am Zeratide. Tell me, who was your father?" the elf asked, ignoring the shocked appearances of the rest of the group.

"He was the man who led the resistance. Denarius."

"Ah, so Denarius had a son, eh? God, that would make you around ninety, old man. Your father was a good man, and I know that he would wish you to help repay an old friend in need," Zeratide replied, gazing around at the men assembled. When the old man nodded, he spoke again. "My companions of I are in need of a few horses. Powerful, noble-looking beasts like some of the ones I just allowed you to catch. Now, you just gained fifteen, so what would three be out of that, eh?" The men immediately agreed, and two went to select the best. "I would also like to purchase any extra tack you may have," Zeratide said, looking at the group again. Here they tensed, and the old man rubbed his brow.

"Two of my men died yesterday from snake bites, so we can sell you their tack. Unfortunately, we really don't have any extra equipment." The old man gazed at the assembled group, his Adam's apple quivering as he muttered under his breath as he tried to figure out a solution.

Zeratide gazed at the horses, rubbing his chin as he thought. _I could make the leather out of some skins with magic, but that won't serve to make the metal. That will take an entirely different spell, and making a saddle would be take too much time. I can't run to Urû'baen; that would attract far too much attention, and I would be too tired out. If I ride bareback, then people will wonder why someone dressed as a noble is riding bareback. Same with riding double and alternating Riders. Another illusion on top of the ones I have going would be sure to alert Galbatorix._

Just at that particular moment, a snake appeared, lashing at one of the stallions. The creature spooked, and began lashing and kicking. A young man swore, and tried to grab it, succeeding in grabbing its mane. "No!" Zeratide shouted, dashing toward the animal as it whipped around. The momentum through the man underneath its hoofs, and his screams were cut short when the stallions' hoof came crashing down, crushing his head like a berry. Zeratide arrived just a moment too late, pushing the animal away with elfish strength. Sighing, Zeratide reached to the man's mind. _He won't need it, _he thought as he stole the remaining energy in the corpse. He heard one man draw a knife, and saw that he was intent on slitting the offending horse's neck.

"Enough bloodshed!" Zeratide shouted, shoving the man into the dirt. A ring of arrows were pointed at him in an instant, and flicking his wrist, he caused the bolts to shatter, causing the men to shout out in surprise. "I will take this horse as my own. And it looks like you now have enough tack to sell."

* * *

Galbatorix stood in the dungeons, the darkness permeated by a ring of torches. His arms were clasped behind his back as he gazed at the marks he had drawn across the rough stone, crating arcane symbols. Thirteen vagabonds lay bound before him, moaning pitifully as he walked around them, gazing at their thin bodies. _These will do, _he thought to himself. _After all, what they were before doesn't matter when it comes to what a Shade turns into._ He raised his hands, and began chanting a dark spell. The torches flickered for a moment, before the flames turned blue, casting strange shapes and shadows throughout the room. Two of the men began shouting in fear when the spirits came crashing in, whirring around the vagabonds. Their screams were cut short as the spirits shot into their mouths, worming down to their heart. Ear-piercing shrieks cut the air as more and more spirits merged with their unwilling hosts. Slowly, the screams turned into slow, mad chuckles of pain, before becoming outright laughter.

The Shades rose as one, each nearly identical in appearance save a few small characteristics from their old forms. Seeing Galbatorix, they dashed forward, tearing at each other to reach the man who warped them. "Letta!" Galbatorix barked, raising a claw-like hand into the air. The beings froze in place, and began barking spells and black magics at him as he tore into each of their minds, forcing them into submission with the superior amount of energy at his disposal. Once they submitted, they would hibernate for a month.

_Soon, _he thought as each one slowly crumpled to the floor. _Soon, I shall have my revenge._

* * *

Zeratide led the way through the gates of Urû'baen as the sun was beginning to set. The armored guards began rolling the crank that lowered the gates, and Eragon glanced back as they lowered completely with a bang. As they trotted through the streets, dirty beggars clawed at the mounted Riders, begging for something, anything, that would help them survive. As much as each Rider yearned to help, they kept moving, remembering that they had a mission.

Step one of Zeratide's plan was to infiltrate Urû'baen. Afterward, they would have to walk the streets, gathering what information they could while Zeratide infiltrated the Citadel, posing as a servant the way Brom had infiltrated Morzan's castle many years before. Once that was complete, they would make whatever alterations were required, but the next step was clear; they would infiltrate, steal, and sabotage before making their escape. Posing as a small de facto group Zeratide had encountered in the previous century, they would be able to break the treaty without anyone being any the wiser as to the Varden's involvement.

_Soon, _Zeratide thought as they found an inn where they could spend the night. _Soon, I shall through a wrench into Galbatorix's plans._

_Soon, I shall have my revenge._

* * *

There you go, guys. I'm sorry it took so long, but due to unforeseen circumstances I was unable to use my computer for the better part of almost a month. What you see in this chapter is the result of a sugar-fueled all-nighter. So please forgive me for any mistakes. Please Review.

-Zeratide, out.


	17. Reconnaissance and Reminiscence

Hey everybody, how you doing? Hope you enjoyed the last chapter. Without further ado, I give to you, Chapter 17 of Du Sundavar Freohr.

* * *

_Previously…_

Soon,_ Zeratide thought as they found an inn where they could spend the night. _Soon, I shall through a wrench into Galbatorix's plans.

Soon, I shall have my revenge.

* * *

It was shortly after midnight when Zeratide woke in the room, stretching out on the bed of the room he had rented. He shook his purse, the heavy leather jingling loudly. _Pickpocketing still works,_ he thought with a satisfied smile. He pulled on his leather cape, before leaving the room.

He descended into the tavern, and walked through the crowd, carefully observing each person. Their stance, their accent, their minutest quirks told him a great deal. One man sitting in the corner of the bar was huddled over his mug, never moving save to drink. From that alone, Zeratide could tell he was a new soldier. The sword at his side and the helm resting on the table confirmed it. He sidled over to the man, sitting down across from him. "Mind if I join you?" he asked, assuming a slightly drunk air. The young soldier glanced at him for a brief moment, before he shrugged and returned to gazing at his mug. "What's got you down, lad?" Zeratide asked, motioning the tavern wench over. "Two mugs of ale," he murmured to her, handing her several coins. As she left, he turned back to the soldier.

The man was silent for a while, moving only to bring the mug to his lip, before he paused halfway. He shook his head, and downed the drink. "Growin' up, you look at the soldiers and think that they're the coolest men alive, and that you want to be one of them once you are capable of fighting. Then, you find out that most of them are little more than thugs." He sighed, and pushed the empty mug aside.

"What happened?" Zeratide asked, leaning forward and projecting a sympathetic tone. The woman returned just then, and set the drinks down before she hurried off to another client. Zeratide pushed one of the mugs over to the soldier, before taking a sip from his own. The man thanked him under his breath, before nursing the mug in his hands.

"A few weeks ago, we're mounting for an attack on the Varden, right? Well, just when we're about to attack, our company magician receives a message direct from Galbatorix. Well, the King is saying something about an elf, and a ceasefire, so he calls us back. Well, we start the march, and because we was expecting battle, we had less food and more weapons. As a result of having to lug the weapons, the men get tired and hungry. We run out of food, right? So on our way home, we stumble upon this little town. One of those towns that's so little it's not even marked on the map. Enough people know of it, it's just too small. Well, the men storm the damn place. They cut down everyone in their way, and take all the food they find. They even grabbed some of the livestock. And once we were done there, they set torches to the remains." The man was silent for a while, before he continued, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "And what really gets me is that they was our own people! They were just innocent farmers and such. They weren't part of the Varden, they were part of the damn Empire! And we butchered them, just for some meat."

Zeratide nodded slowly, and looked at his own mug. He had only had a few sips, and with a murmured word, cast a small spell to switch his and the soldier's glasses without him noticing. The man drained the entire glass, before he leaned back, blinking slightly. At that moment, Zeratide gazed directly into his eyes and made his move.

The mental probe was fast, and unnoticeable. He swept past the man's defenses, and rummaged through his memories. Everything involving every mission he had been on, instantly memorized. The time that he met Galbatorix face-to-face to give a report on the Varden's victory in Feinster, memorized. The man's shock when Galbatorix merely let him walk away, whereas Galbatorix had always killed any man who brought him bad news. And finally, the entrance to the servant's quarters, where the man had gone to engage in certain… activities with one of the chambermaids.

He stood, and bowed his head slightly to the soldier. "I wish you luck, my friend," he said, turning and walking away. He quickly darted through the crowd, until he finally exited the smoky atmosphere. He quickly made his way toward the citadel, now having a plan to get in.

* * *

Arya awoke in her tent, stretching slowly on the cot. For a moment, she gazed at the spot Eragon should have been occupying, before she shrugged the blankets off, revealing her in her thin shift. She stood, and stretched, before she dressed in a simple set of clothes, perfect for exercise. Stalking out of the tent, she cast a glance at the tower in the center of Feinster, the tower she and Eragon had stormed. She recalled the lessons her father had given to Eragon and Murtagh, how he had had them repeatedly climb the structure. As she gazed at the structure, an idea came to her, and she grinned before jogging toward the tower. If the men could do it, then she should be able to do it in less time.

* * *

As Zeratide approached the Citadel, he could feel certain wards beginning to activate. He glanced around himself, before stepping into a side alley. Reaching out with his mind, he began going over the wards he sensed, checking each of them to learn their properties.

_First ward… simple sensory ward. Alerts Galbatorix whenever someone comes within a mile of the citadel. Common enough, and mainly done to spook anyone with the ability to sense wards. Next one… designed to sense would-be assassins… luckily for me, I'm not aiming to kill him this time around. Now, let's see… digging deeper… elf sensor, dwarf sensor, Rider sensor, war machine repellant, fire repellant, flight repellant. The sensors only sense when you enter past a certain point; it's more a warning that an actual tracker. So if I open a hole in it, I'll be able to get in undetected._

He closed his eyes, and began murmuring several dozen sentences in the Ancient Language, working his way into the cracks in the wards. Several times he had to stop, as he detected a ward that would activate if he used magic, so he had to divert attention to those before continuing. A half-hour later, he had managed to slip into three dozen wards, and with a final word, he managed to open the gap in the sensory wards. He quickly entered, and released the spell, allowing the ward to go back up before the deactivation was noticed, just in case. He waited for a moment, and when nothing happened, he began walking closer to the Citadel, disappearing into the shadows.

* * *

Arya finally pulled herself up over the tower's parapets after several minutes of rough climbing. _Harder than I thought, _she thought to herself, bending over and panting. Looking up, she gazed at the moon, estimating her time by its progression. She slowly grinned when she realized she had managed to reach the top a minute faster than the men. She slowly slid down the wall, sitting against the cool stone. Her breath slowly returned, and she mopped the sweat of her forehead.

After a while, the hatch leading to the interior opened, and Nasuada climbed through, jumping slightly when she saw Arya. "Arya!" she exclaimed, clutching a hand to her chest. "Gods, but you startled me."

"My apologies, my Lady," Arya said, inclining her head. She motioned for Nasuada to join her, and the dark-skinned woman grinned before joining her. "I awoke and found that I couldn't get back to sleep, so I decided to try and beat the men's climbing record," she explained, grinning slightly at the Queen of the Varden.

"And did you?" Nasuada asked, flashing an ivory grin as she gazed at the stars.

"I did," Arya replied, and victorious smile again crossing her features. Nasuada chuckled for a while, before sighing and gazing at the stars. The two fell into amiable silence, gazing at the heavens, enjoying the cool night air.

"Islanzadi contacted us a while ago, asking us how we were dealing with the cease-fire. She wished to speak with you," Nasuada murmured, avoiding Arya's eyes. The elf-woman rubbed her arm nervously for a minute, before sighing and turning to the young human.

"I don't know how to tell her, Nasuada. She raised me my entire life. And if she found out that her daughter was dead, and that she had been raising another's child, it would destroy her. She would never want anything to do with me again, and she could very well denounce me as ambassador and take away the elves' support." A solitary tear ran down her cheek as she leaned the side of her face against the rough stone of the parapets.

Nasuada carefully wrapped the woman in a friendly hug, trying to comfort one of her only friends. "You just have to hope. It's like having a splinter. It'll hurt before, and after, but once you just get it out there, you feel better quickly."

The two gazed back up at the sky, waiting for the stars to fade.

* * *

Zeratide finally reached the servant's entrance to the castle, having had to stop another half-dozen time to slip through wards. He opened the door and strode through, entering one of the many kitchens the castle housed. A few servants glanced at him, before noticing the fineness of his garb, and quickly looking away. He walked on through, uninterrupted. Apparently, enough people of wealth had passed through the entrance in… other pursuits that it was commonplace.

He entered the office of the Quartermaster, and quickly picked the lock, entering and shutting the door before he was noticed. He relocked it with a murmured spell, then went over to the desk, and rummaged through the accounting logs, looking over documents listing purchases, shipments, and work schedules. _Best check to see which of those chambermaids spends the most time with the King,_ he thought, pulling out the roster. _Rulers tend to let things slip in bed._ He quickly ran a finger along the list of names, and found a candidate, a woman by the name of Sonja. He replaced the roster, and placed it back on the desk just as he heard footsteps.

He cast around the room, and noticed that the space above the door was large enough for him to occupy for a few seconds. He ran up the wall and reached the spot just as the door opened and two men walked in. Placing his hand on the doorframe, he stopped his momentum, balancing his body through the one arm. As the two men walked past, he silently rolled over the frame and landed on his feet, quickly escaping the office before he was seen.

Once he was back in the kitchens, he cast around, looking for one of the servants. Apparently they had all gone to bed, for none were to be seen. He sighed, and closed his eyes, rubbing his temples as he concentrated.

_Think… you've seen the schematics for the entirety of Urû'baen. This is the kitchen in the east wing. Which means that the servant's quarters should be… this way,_ he thought, pointing at a hallway off to the side. He walked down and followed to a few adjacent hallways before he rounded a corner and came face-to-face with a guard. Before the man could react, Zeratide lashed forward, procuring a small hidden dagger and slashing his throat before either could blink. He grabbed the man and kicked open a closet, throwing the guard in. An idea came to him, and he quickly entered, closing the door behind him.

* * *

Several minutes later, he exited the closet, now dressed as one of Galbatorix's officers. He bundled his clothes under his arm and hid them in a small annex before continuing his search. Another minute later he reached a hallway lined with doors. Looking at the doors, he saw a small sign nailed on each with the names of the servants living inside. Many had multiple names, but at the end of the hallway he found several single quarters. He gazed at the very last, and saw the name Sonja nailed to it. Walking forward, he opened the door and entered the woman's quarters.

Instantly, his nose was assaulted with the stench of sweat and sex. He gagged, and as his eyes adjusted to the light, he was disgusted to see a man's ass bobbing in front of him, the woman Sonja writhing beneath him. Sonja screamed, pulling a blanket to hide her breasts, and the man quickly leapt to his feet, shouting in surprise as he saw Zeratide. The man grabbed a bundle of clothes, and Zeratide recognized them as belonging to a guard recruit. "Recruit!" he stormed, acting livid. "Get your ass back to the barracks! I'll have you through drills for shirking duty until you drop!" The man apologized profusely, throwing on his shirt and tripping as he tried to exit the room and pull up his pants at the same time.

Zeratide slammed the door behind him, and turned to face the woman. "Are you Sonja?" he asked, crossing his arms and leaning against the wooden frame. She nodded quickly, gazing at him with a mixture of fear, curiosity, and lust. He continued, unperturbed. "I have a couple of questions to ask you." She gave him a knowing look, and stood, one hand holding up the thin blanket guarding her body.

"Do you now?" she asked, sauntering over to him and running a finger along his jaw. She gave him a sultry grin, and released the blanket, revealing her nude, sweat-slicked body. "Well, seeing as you interrupted, I seem to have some unfinished business. Care to assist me?" she asked, reaching for his belt. He grasped both her wrists in one hand, bringing her eyes to his.

"I want to know where Galbatorix keeps his private records. Perhaps his journal?" he asked, and she pushed away, shaking her head.

"No, no, no. If you want that kind of information, you'll have to pay and please me," she said, shaking her finger at him. He reached for his belt and grasped the deceased guard's coin purse, flicking it to her with a snap of the wrist. She grabbed it without breaking his gaze, and tipped it over, allowing the gold coins to land in her wrist. She looked away briefly to count them, stepped forward. She tossed the coins onto her nightstand and looked back at him, pressing herself close once more. "Well, you've paid," she said, reaching for his belt again.

He sighed, and ran his fingers along her skin, making her gasp. He shoved her against a wall, and pressed himself against her, running one hand over her breasts, and the other across her thighs. "The journal?" he murmured, his fingertips dancing closer to her core.

"In his personal office, at the top of the northern tower," she gasped, knotting her fingers in his hair. He grinned, before he threw her on the bed. "Slytha," he murmured, and her eyelids fluttered closed. He took back the coins and exited the room, shutting the door behind him. He stood still for a moment, before he shuddered, slightly disgusted.

"Damn whore," he murmured, striding through the halls. He moved back to the hidden annex, and grabbed his clothes, quickly changing. Once done, he roamed through the hallways, observing the changes that had occurred since his last visit over a century ago.

Many of the hallways had accumulated dust; not a century's worth, but enough to show just how few people lived in the castle now, as compared to when Ilirea was at its height. He turned into another hallway, and flashes of memory began to appear before him. He strode through the large double doors, and came across an abandoned ballroom, this one obviously having been left for the century. Gazing around, a flood of memories came upon him.

* * *

_It had been five years since he had become the Leader's Apprentice. On a diplomatic mission, he and Vrael had been asked to join King Angrenost, the human king Galbatorix would later depose as ruler, in a masquerade. Many humans and elves were to attend the event, so Zeratide dressed to disguise. He wore black trousers with silver threading down the seam in the appearance of a Lianí Vine. On his torso was a snow-white silk tunic, flaring at the wrists like a fencer's shirt, and with a neckline dipping to his sternum. He pulled on a pair of black molded leather boots, polished so he could almost make out his reflection. He looked over the rest of his clothes, and came across a black silk cape with red interior. He slung it over his shoulders, the dragon brooch resting in the hollow of his clavicles._

"_I need a mask," he murmured, and gazed out the window of his quarters, observing the bazaar that had sprung up at the announcement of the event. He quickly removed a pane of the window, and climbed out, making his way down the path of hand-and-footholds to the ground below. Once his boots touched grass, he made his way to the venders, passing from stall to stall as he gazed at the many masks. As he passed a rather rotund man shouting his wares to those in earshot, the gentle sound of a harp reached his ears. He glanced in the direction of the music, and saw the elf woman he had saved five years ago from the man Daeon._

_He grabbed a black, rounded mask that covered all his face save his mouth and chin, put it on, and tossed the vendor the money as he walked toward her. She sat upon the porch of one of the many buildings, and a group of men, human and elf alike, were standing around her. He knelt upon the stone steps, and gazed at her. Her gaze turned to him, and they locked eyes as she finished her song._

"_Just… wait… though wide he may roam,_

_Always… a hero comes home._

_He… goes… where no one has gone,_

_But always… a hero comes home…"_

_She strummed the last few notes, and as the heavenly chords faded, the men erupted into applause. Aelana gazed at him for a few moments longer, before she stood, and strode past him. The surrounding men parted before her, and after a few moments, she disappeared. He attempted to follow, but she eluded him, and finally he gave up. Defeated, he returned to the castle, awaiting the masquerade._

* * *

_Six hours later, the sun had set, and the torches had been lit. Thousands of candles lined every hallway and ballroom, each ballroom filled. Passes had been sold, and each ballroom cost a different amount based on who was to attend; the poorest were all confined to one while the King and those rich enough, or those who had scrounged enough to afford, were in the grandest of all. Zeratide and Vrael, due to their diplomatic mission, were allowed access to the King's private ball. Zeratide observed the throng of dancers, listening to the music and the singing, and found himself to be rather disgusted. _Only the wealthy can participate in the true celebrations, _he thought, gazing at the assembled. _The honest men and women who work their lives away so these men might grow fat are confined to the cheapest party they could throw.

_Just then, he heard a series of wolf-whistles and flirty remarks as a group of men swarmed around a woman who had just entered. Casting his gaze in her direction, his throat went dry when he saw it was Aelana. She was dressed in a silver gown of modest silk, with just the right cut as to give the slightest of hints as to her figure. She wore a silver jewel-rimmed mask that surrounded her eyes, and her hair was pulled back and weaved with flowers. She seemed shy and frightened, and for a moment, Zeratide had wondered how she had merited an invitation to the King's ball. She moved slightly, and he saw her harp glisten for a moment before the throng surrounded her again._

_In seconds he had crossed the hall, and he now shoved his way through the throng, trying to reach her. When he finally made it to the center, she was flinching from a nobleman reaching for her waist, and her wide eyes revealed she was having a flashback of her incident with Daeon. In an instant, Zeratide stood between the two, grasping the man's wrist in a grip of iron. The man hissed in pain, and Aelana looked up in surprise that someone had actually assisted her. The crowd instantly drew back, realizing that very quickly the show would become violent._

_The man growled, and threw a punch with his free hand, trying to land a single good blow to Zeratide's jaw. The elf stepped back, allowing the punch to soar past his face, before he delivered two punishing blows; the first a quick jab to the stomach, followed by an open palm to the throat. The nobleman stumbled back, gasping for breath, before he fell to the floor, curling into a ball in pain._

_For several moments, the ballroom was silent, all eyes upon him, Aelana, and the nobleman lying on the marble floor. After several seconds, the crowd resumed its activity, and he strode over to Aelana, gently leading her to his seat. Once he was there, he set her down, and knelt, carefully looked her over. "Are you alright?" he asked, checking to make sure she had no bruises where men had attempted to grab her._

"_I am fine," she said nervously, gazing at his face. She reached forward, and gently grasped the mask covering his features. When he made no move to stop her, she pulled it off, and let out a sound between a sigh and a gasp when she saw his face. "You're the man from before," she whispered, gently cupping his cheek. "You have saved me twice now."_

"_They were by far the happiest rescues I've made," he replied, and his heart quickened when she smiled. His fingers gently probed the skin on her arm, and when he had ascertained that she was alright, he stood, bowing. "Where are my manners? My name is Zeratide, Rider of Ammadden." Her eyes widened with excitement, and her mouth formed a small O._

"_You are a Rider?" she whispered, awe etched onto her features. At his nod, she stood, and performed a quick curtsy, before bowing her head to him. "If it is alright with you, would you introduce me to your dragon, Ammadden? I've never met a Rider or his dragon before." He smiled, and held out his hand. She timidly took it, and he led her away from the crowds, the pair sneaking into the gardens beyond._

_Zeratide and Aelana slowly entered the dragon hold, and Zeratide pushed open the door, ushering her in. He closed the door behind him, and led her through. He bowed when he reached Eridor, murmuring, "Master." The dragon's eye flickered half open, and observed the two for a moment before returning to sleep. They continued past, until the came across Ammadden's pen, the dragon invisible in the dark._

"_Where is he?" Aelana asked, and she nearly screamed when he suddenly opened an eye, the white of his eyes creating a void in the surrounding darkness. Zeratide quickly cast a spell, and warm light filled the room, revealing Ammadden to Aelana. Ammadden slowly rose, and Aelana seemed to shrink in comparison, before the dragon slowly brought his face level with hers. He gazed into her eyes long and hard, and she did her best to return his gaze. After several minutes, he swiveled his head around, and gently sniffed, inhaling her scent into his scaly nostrils. After a few seconds, the dragon bowed his head, and gently touched her forehead with the tip of his nose._

_As Aelana gasped, Ammadden's voice filled the room, his words seeming his own, yet seeming to come from another as well. _Wyrda surrounds you, child. Both of you. You futures will be intertwined.

* * *

After that day, Zeratide had begun courting Aelana, and a year later, they had consummated their relationship in the lake in Ellesmera. As the memory's vividness slowly faded away, Zeratide left the ballroom, disappearing once more into shadow.

* * *

Well, there you have it folks. You know I won't know what you think until you press that button, so please, review. And on a side note: I had hoped that I would be able to finish this entire story before Inheritance releases in November. Having given myself this timeline, I am finding it harder and harder to focus on only this story, while still having fun writing it, and writing it well. So, I am going to go back to my previous schedule of updating all my stories. To my fans of my multiple stories, this is good news. To my fans who aren't… well, this way the quality will be even better. Tell me your opinion of this alongside your review.

-Zeratide, out.


	18. The Raid

Hey everybody! Well, well, well. I read the final book of the Inheritance series the day it came out. My review for the story is mixed, and it will probably cost me a couple of my faithful followers: I believe that Christopher Paolini did the right thing. Arya's and Eragon's personalities were just too different for their relationship to work during the war, and afterwards, their responsibilities would have kept them apart. I am lucky; as I do not have to worry about marring my career by publishing fanfiction, I can change their personalities by doing whatever I want. I hope, though, that you do enjoy my work. Without further ado, I present to you Chapter 18 of Du Sundavar Freohr.

* * *

_Previously…_

_As the memory's vividness slowly faded away, Zeratide left the ballroom, disappearing once more into shadow._

* * *

Eragon silently exited his dreams as the sun began to rise. Quickly surveying the rooms with normal and magical means, he made sure that he and Murtagh were alone. Zeratide had gone to the castle during the night, and by now was likely posing as a servant. Rousing Murtagh, they donned some commoner's clothes before slipping out the window, and walking the streets.

The two brothers made sure to walk separately, but always within ten paces of each other, just in case something went wrong. With the coins they had, they casually went about buying and doing various things in the city; a trinket here, a mug of ale or a piece of candy at another stall, or even just sitting down on benches allowed them to avoid suspicion, and they overheard snippets of conversation here and there. Hours passed, and before long the sun was beginning to set. As a group of guards strode by on patrol, Murtagh listened in on their hushed tones.

"I don't know any more than you do. All I'm saying is that last night I heard a howling, as if the wind were running from hell itself. I take a look outside, it's dead calm, but the howling is still going on. Then I hear laughing from the dungeons. I don't know what that Mad King is up to now, but I want nothing to do with it."

"Watch yourself, Felwin," a halberd-toting guard murmured, eyes flicking back and forth at the people walking past. "If the King is conducting more experiments in magic, than you best just look the other way."

They continued on, and Murtagh discreetly worked his way over to the bench where Eragon was sitting, observing a noblewoman speaking with a servant. Sitting down, the elder brother told what he had overheard, and Eragon's eyes widened slightly. "When we were besieging Feinster," he whispered, casually leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, "Arya and I were storming the tower. When we reached the top, a group of sorcerers were summoning spirits to possess a man and turn him into a Shade. When the spirits arrived, the sound they made sounded similar to what you've described, and the Shade was laughing madly for a time."

"But why would the King want another Durza?" Murtagh wondered, rubbing his ginger scruff. "When he was training me, he kept telling me that I had to be better. Better than Vrael, better than Durza, and he lectured on and on about Durza's shortcomings, telling me not to make the same mistakes."

"What if it's more than one Shade?" Eragon asked, his voice rising slightly in fear, and a passing woman glanced at him with concern. "Tunics," he offered weakly, and the woman rolled her eyes before continuing on.

"Could you be a worse liar right now?" Murtagh said amusedly, a lopsided smirk aimed at his sibling. "I suppose though that it is possible… with multiple Shades, Galbatorix would be able to compensate for their individual shortcomings by having another being of supernatural strength with a different set of quirks. The question though, is how many Shades he would be able to control."

"Galbatorix would probably want to use more than two or three; he has dozens of magicians spread throughout his army. If he can control all of them, he could easily control, say, five? In his prime, he was also able to subdue all of the Forsworn." Rubbing his temples to ward off an oncoming headache, Eragon sighed. "Of course, it also depends on how many spirits he makes possess each person. If it were one, than he could control many more Shades than if it were, say, a dozen."

"There are too many variables," Murtagh stated, shaking his head. "Let's return to the inn. By now, Zeratide will probably be waiting there, ready for our report." Standing, the two stretched their stiff muscles, before working their way toward the inn, slipping in and out of the crowd. When they arrived back at the inn, the evening crowd was thick enough for them to slip back to their rooms without being noticed.

The two found the room empty, everything exactly as they had left it. "Why hasn't he come back?" Eragon asked as they changed back into their more fancy disguises. "You don't suppose he's been caught?"

At that particular moment, a loud banging came from the door, and a gruff voice shouted out, "Open up, in the name of the King!" The two cast a nervous glance at each other before silently drawing their blades. Eragon took his place behind the door, resting his hand on the latch. Murtagh took his place in front of the door, hefted his blade, and motioned for Eragon to open the door.

Eragon tore the door open, and in a flash, a man dressed in an Imperial Officer's garb shot forward, catching Murtagh's descending wrist and stopping Zar'roc mid-swing. Twisting around Murtagh, the man shoved the Red Rider against the wall, twisting his arm until Murtagh shouted out in pain, dropping his sword. In the time it took Eragon to take two steps and raise his sword, Murtagh had been incapacitated, and in another heartbeat Eragon was lying on his back. A dagger slid out of a hidden wrist sheath, and Eragon struggled with the man, attempting to wrest the dagger from him. Bringing his elven strength to bear, he shoved the man off of him, leaping to his feet as the man's back hit the ceiling.

To Eragon and Murtagh's amazement, he stuck there.

Quickly recovering their weapons, Eragon ran up the wall, before pushing off and slashing at the assassin as he flew by. The man scuttled across the ceiling like a bug, avoiding the slash, before he silently dropped to the floor, quickly moving forward and slashing at Eragon's neck with the dagger. Choosing blood rather than death, Eragon brought his free arm up, allowing the dagger to sink into the meat of his forearm. Murtagh took advantage of the assassin's pause to launch forward and decapitate the man with a single, clean slice. The head rolled across the floor, the body collapsed upon itself, and all was silent.

* * *

It was another hour before Zeratide walked through the door, and upon seeing the body, he cursed audibly. Quickly closing and locking the door, followed by closing and locking the window and drawing the blinds, he set about cleaning the mess with an undetectable spell, before writing on a scroll. Placing the scroll on the corpse, he stabbed it in place with a dagger, the blade sinking into the dead flesh with a squelch, before he cast a teleportation spell to send the body back to the Varden.

"Tell me what you've learned," he said once the job was done. The two brothers launched into the rumor they had heard about Shades, and their thoughts on how many Galbatorix might be able to raise. Zeratide remained silent throughout, his expression cold, calculating. Once they were done, Zeratide sighed, running a hand through his freshly-disguised hair. His features, now those of the officer he had slain, were aquiline, and the soldier's wrinkles on the elf's face seemed to show just how weary the Rider was. "I had hoped that Galbatorix would never again raise a Shade… if your information is true, than my hand may be forced; I might have to break an Oath I made to Vrael and create something not seen for almost a millennium…" Shaking his head to regain his thoughts, he turned back to the brothers. "Rest up tonight. Our hand is forced; we have no time to get as much information as we need, so we will have to conduct our raid tomorrow night, blind. I'll give you my memories, but once we are in there, it is every man for himself. Try to stay alive; a rescue will be tedious."

* * *

At midnight, their chance finally appeared. The storm that cropped up that morning had abated, leaving a patch of clear night sky visible in the roiling clouds. They gathered near the castle, in disguises differing from their noble outfits. Each had black hair, and wore a fencer's shirt underneath a black woolen shirt reaching just below the flared cuffs. A leather vest went over that, along with a leather belt with a bronzed buckle. A rapier and dagger hung on their waists, as well as a hidden dagger attached to a wrist sheath on their right forearm. Their similar heights would fool just about anyone into thinking they were the same person if they were seen separately.

The three slowly began their climb, testing each handhold the castle's structure provided. The rain had left the stones slick; several times Zeratide's grip slipped, leaving him dangling by the tips of his fingers over the abyss. His arms burned as he pulled himself up and continued his climb. Slowly, ever so slowly, he reached the parapets ad pulled himself over. He quickly pulled the brothers up and over, the three men disappearing into the shadows as a lone guard passed by.

He carried a lantern in one hand, and strapped to his waist was a wicked-looking saber. Looking around as he passed, he slipped in a small puddle, and as he flailed about, the lantern's light revealed the three. Zeratide was already moving as the man reached for his sword. The elf grabbed his wrist, and struck him in the stomach, watching the man double over before he gave the man a hard shove, sending him soaring over the parapets into empty space. The man's screams faded as he fell.

Drawing his sword, Zeratide slowly approached the door leading into the tower. Eragon and Murtagh stepped to either side of the portal, and at his nod, tore it open. Zeratide quickly entered, prepared to cur through anyone taken by surprise, but luckily, no one was there. "Clear," he called out, his voice echoing off the damp stone walls. He slowly advanced down the spiral stairs, listening to the scuffing sound of his leather boots on the stone, and the occasional drip from the ceiling.

He reached another door, and paused in front, pressing his ear to the wood. He heard two or three voice, and one definitely female. He motioned the two brothers stop, and he slowly opened the door wide enough for his lithe form to slip through. He shut the door silently, and slid into the shadows just as a patrol stepped into sight.

"What was that?" a voice called. The owner stepped into the light, revealing a fresh-faced youth around seventeen.

"'Twas nothing," a rough voice growled out, and the image of a scarred gray veteran floated to Zeratide's mind. "Your first night assignment, in'nut? You think you sum'mun round ev'ry corner." He took a swig from a flask then, revealing the cause of his slurring speech. A woman hung on his arm, identifying the source of the feminine speech. By her garb, he guessed she had been working in a tavern but an hour ago.

"I'm _bored_," she whined, pulling on the veteran's arm. She pressed herself against his side, whispering something in his ear.

"Take over, boy," the veteran said, walking off with her. The younger man grumbled under his breath, gazing out at the city below. Zeratide stepped forward into the light, dragging the tip of his rapier across the stone walk. The young man jerked, and quickly retreated a few steps, drawing his own sword, a saber with an inch or so more reach than Zeratide's rapier.

"I was right," the man murmured, gazing at Zeratide with a curious expression.

"And had he believed you, your commander would be dead," Zeratide replied, dashing forward as the last word left his lips. He aimed a single thrust combined with elven speed toward the man's neck, aiming to use one economic move that had felled many before. His eyes widened in shock when the man leaned back, the blade passing a hair's breadth from his head. A lightning-quick counterattack followed, and Zeratide backpedaled, the blade raving through the space his neck had occupied before.

"Not as easy as you thought?" the man asked grimly, locking blades with the elf. "I would know your name before I send you from this world," he said, twirling out of the stalemate.

"Drothe, Gray Prince of the Kin." Zeratide lied, drawing a small dagger with his left hand. (AN: A cookie to whoever correctly guesses the book Drothe comes from.) "And yours?"

"Markos," the man replied, drawing a small fencing dagger. They stood for a moment gazing at each other, before Zeratide dashed forward. Bringing the dagger up, he aimed for a stab straight into the sternum, aiming to get a lung. Markos brought his fencing dagger around, locking crossguards and moving to bring his sword down on Zeratide's shoulder.

Zeratide stepped forward, using the locked daggers to his advantage. He stepped in close, too close for sword range: Markos' arm merely bounced off his shoulder. The daggers were trapped beneath the two, unable to be used, but Zeratide's sword was still close; not able to slash or stab, he opted for a pommel smash against the bone in Markos' hip, grinning when the man's leg buckled. He quickly shoved the man down, pointing the tip of his blade at Markos' throat.

Markos gazed at Zeratide for a long moment, before releasing his weapons, the steal vibrating against the cold stone. "You fought well," Zeratide said, moving the tip a little closer. Markos said nothing; no pleas for mercy, no hollow threats, no call for help. His courage impressed Zeratide. He pulled the blade away, and smashed the pommel against the soldier's skull with a dull thunk. Markos' posture slumped before he fell sideways, unconscious. "And for that I give you your life," Zeratide said, sheathing his weapons. He gave a low whistle, and Eragon and Murtagh reappeared, stepping from the doorway they had hid behind. They soundlessly fell in behind their leader, and the three carried on.

* * *

They eventually split into three groups; Eragon went to search for documents on the Empire's activities, Murtagh went to find a number of Eldunarya, and Zeratide worked his way toward the dungeons, where the final egg would be stored. His path was the longest, and it would take some time to get through the maze of corridors, avoid guards, and work his way back, so he paused in a dark alcove, and wove a spell to conceal two things; himself, and the activation of the spell from the thousands of spell-detection wards that permeated the castle. The night before, he had managed to deactivate a number of wards from the castle, namely those that would alert Galbatorix to the presence of three Riders, or an elf, or a half-elf, or a human who wasn't supposed to be there. So long as they were exceedingly cautious with their use of magic, they would remain undetected for some time.

Using his now-invisible status, he flat out ran through the corridors, his footfalls silent with the practice of over a century of stealth. He slid silently around unaware servants and soldiers alike, the men and women never knowing he had even been there. When he finally reached the dungeons, he dropped the spell, sensing entirely new wards he would have to circumvent to keep it active.

Entering the area, he hid in the shadow of a holding cell, watching two guards posted in front of a large set of double-doors. Each was decked out in full armor: pauldrons rested upon strong shoulders, bracers hid powerful forearms, greaves protected strong legs, and thick-gauge steel breastplates made muscular torsos look even larger. Each man held a torch, further lighting a torch-filled hallway, and a broadsword was belted to each waist. Leaning against the wall next to each was a targe round shield, the brutal spike in the center perfect for deflecting a sword, or stabbing an enemy in the eye with a shield bash.

Taking stock of his own equipment once again, he found himself very much outmatched. Closing his eyes, he quickly recalled the layout of the dungeons. Failing to remember any passageways that would lead him back into the storage room itself, or allow him to circumvent the guards, he quickly tried formulating a different plan. A stroke of madness, or genius – Vrael had always said the two often walked hand in hand – struck him, and he wrenched the hinges off the cell door, the sound of twisting metal attracting the two guards. Quickly bending the configurations of the door with his bare hands, he made it slightly thinner, before widening the center so that it acted as an anchor; the door would spin around the center similar to a waterwheel, and as the guards reached him, he leaned back on the top of the door, allowing it to spin so that he fell into the cell. The guards used the same method to enter, and the three of them faced off, Zeratide refusing to draw his weapons as they advanced. At the last possible moment, he slid between the legs of the largest, and hopped back onto the door of the cell, spinning out. "Brisingr!" he shouted as he came to a halt, and aiming the fire into a thin, hot wave, he melted the edges of the door to the frame, keeping it from being opened or rotated, trapping the two guards inside.

The moment he had activated the spell, a dozen different wards went off, and he heard the screaming sound of the alert as he barreled toward the storage, abandoning all stealth. He paused for a moment when he saw thirteen men thrown into the same cell, and his face drained of all color as he saw that they all were Shades. He took a moment to think, and cursed loudly; the amount of time it would take to kill the Shades, even in hibernation, was too much. Instead, he resumed his charge.

Throwing his shoulder against the heavy oak, he shattered it without breaking stride, entering the room and swiftly grabbing the egg. Quickly reaching out his mind, he saw that Murtagh had succeeded in stowing a hundred or so Eldunarya in pocket space using a spell Zeratide had taught the two brothers, and Eragon had also successfully copied a number of reports about the Empire's actions. _We have to move, now! _he ordered, and the three of them all began their escape, running toward the stables. As the three finally met up in the great hall, Zeratide saw a full regiment of guards chasing after each of them as they barreled toward the doors leading out of the castle. Murtagh set them flying through the use of his _Thrysta vindr_ spell, and the three paused for a moment when they saw four horses harnessed right outside the door; one for each of them, with Markos in the saddle of the fourth.

"I will join you!" Markos declared, beckoning them forward, and the three leapt into the saddles without further ado, spurring the horses onward. The alarm had spread throughout the city, and as they made their mad dash from Urû'baen, the Riders continuously sent blasts of magic flying to either delay opponents or outright kill them. Markos said nothing of the matter, and made no comment on the deaths of his former brethren; rather, when one came too close as they rode by, the man would meet the edge of Markos' saber, his head and body hitting the ground in different locations a moment later.

As the men continued to charge, Zeratide halted his horse for a moment, drawing his rapier. With a quick series of cuts, he etched the symbol of the Kin – a simple K inside of a circle – into the wall of the guardsmen's barracks, before spurring his mount after the rest of his companions, fleeing the city.

* * *

As soon as they were past the gates of Urû'baen, the three leapt off their horses, the animals continuing to run. "That ought to give us some time to get to the rendezvous," Zeratide said, leading the three other men toward the place he had told Ammadden to meet them. It was ten miles past the city, just past the point where Galbatorix would be able to find them. All four broke into a run, Markos surprisingly being able to keep up with their speed, and within thirty minutes they had made it to the point. "Well Markos, I have to tell you I lied to you before, Zeratide said as he dropped the illusion surrounding him. "My name is Zeratide, and the two men with me are Eragon and Murtagh." Recognition and awe flitted across Markos' face before he bowed low. "You can join us and the Varden, or I will have to scour from your mind every detail of this night," Zeratide told him, and Markos did not hesitate to present his answer as the dragons arrived in a spray of dirt.

"Shur'tugalar… I will fight with you."

* * *

Well, there you have it folks! I hope that this chapter, though slightly shorter than my usual chapters, made up for both the very long wait and the shortness of this chapter in terms of epicness. Give me a review and tell me how I did.

-Zeratide, out.


	19. A Sword and a Curse

Hey everybody! Zeratide here, and I must say, that while the reviews for the previous chapter were few, I am amazed at just how much you guys like my story. I would like to give a special thank-you to Restrained. Freedom, who has been one of my most positive reviewers in not just this story, but another as well. Also, a quick note; while I was re-reading Inheritance, I noticed that Kialandí was supposed to be male. Despite that, I want to make it abundantly clear that in this fiction, she is female. That's kind of important. Without further ado, here is the newest chapter of Du Sundavar Freohr.

* * *

_Previously…_

"_My name is Zeratide, and the two men with me are Eragon and Murtagh." Recognition and awe flitted across Markos' face before he bowed low. "You can join us and the Varden, or I will have to scour from your mind every detail of this night," Zeratide told him, and Markos did not hesitate to present his answer as the dragons arrived in a spray of dirt._

"_Shur'tugalar… I will fight with you."_

* * *

As soon as they were sure all was prepared, the three dragons took off with their Riders, Markos sitting behind Zeratide on Ammadden. The dragons flew fast and low until dawn's first light began to creep up, and they ascended above the clouds. Markos asked Zeratide a few questions here and there, and Zeratide answered; he told about his hundred-year exile, his mate, Aelana, and his daughter, Arya. Turning in the saddle, Zeratide addressed the man behind him. "Markos, I have a few questions for you."

"You want to know how I was able to match your strength and speed, what with you being an elf and me being human."

Zeratide chuckled deep in his throat; this young man was nothing if not perceptive. He nodded, and Markos brushed the hair back off his ears. The young man's features scrunched up in concentration for a moment, before he whispered a few words. The ears shivered for a moment, before tapering off to points; the eyes narrowed slightly; the face became more angular; the hair turned silver. His muscles seemed to recede back, and in a heartbeat Zeratide understood why; this man was an elf. He had worked illusions onto himself to make him appear muscular enough to match his strength, and to change his features into that of a human.

"How the hell did Galbatorix get an elf into his army?" Zeratide murmured to himself. Markos, obviously having heard him, elected not to answer, and they flew in silence for several minutes, Zeratide relaying this new information to Eragon and Murtagh. To say the other men were surprised was putting it mildly; they, like him, wondered how Galbatorix had managed to gain an elf in his army, and how it had been kept secret. After a while, Zeratide asked again.

"Oh, Galbatorix doesn't know I'm an elf. He doesn't even know I exist."

Zeratide nearly fell out of the saddle, and Ammadden was so shocked by the statement that he forgot to continue gliding; they dropped several dozen feet before the dragon returned to his senses. "How the hell could Galbatorix not know you exist?" Zeratide asked, flabbergasted. "You're talking about a man who, through sheer cunning, was able to steal power from the Riders, and then defeat them!"

Markos nodded, before a pained look crossed his eyes. "He doesn't know I exist because my _parents_ didn't know I existed. I have no idea who my father is; my mother wouldn't tell me, and she made sure that before she served Galbatorix, she wove a spell so complex, so subtle, that even _she_ was unable to find any memory of me in her mind. From that day on, I was but another child running around to her, not her blood." For several seconds he was silent, before he cleared his thoughts with a shake of his head. "I've served in Galbatorix's army for about eight decades; I've existed for twelve. Due to my youthful appearance, I have to fake my own death and assume a new identity every decade or so, as well as moving to a new city. My name isn't even Markos. It's Denarius"

"Who was your mother?" Zeratide asked, giving the man a sympathetic look. _To have to watch your own mother remove her every memory of you… to see a person who should be a sanctuary not know you… what a horrible way to grow up._ A dodgy look appeared on Denarius' face, and Zeratide narrowed his eyes at the man's hesitance. When Denarius cast a glance at Murtagh, the hint of an idea flitted across Zeratide's mind.

"She was one of the Forsworn, wasn't she?"

Denarius nodded, tears forming in the corner of the eyes, and Zeratide knew the man was greatly ashamed of his heritage, something he had no control over. Patting Denarius' shoulder, he tried to convey wordlessly what men had to learn; the deeds of their forebears, no matter how impressive or how damning, were not their own. Denarius likely guessed at what Zeratide was trying to tell, but he didn't say anything. "What was her name?" Zeratide asked, listing over the few female Forsworn he knew of.

"Kialandí."

Zeratide whipped back in the saddle, facing Ammadden's neck spikes as his face shot through dozens of emotions; astonishment, shock, confusion, suspicion, and guilt. _A hundred and twenty, he said he is… A hundred and twenty years ago, I first met Aelana… A year before that, I had broken up with Kialandí. If my suspicions are right…_ Ammadden remained silent, and Zeratide continued to work himself into a frenzy, recalling the memory of their last night together.

* * *

_They were atop the tallest tower of Vroengard, the flat disc perforated at the edges by parapets. Zeratide leaned between two of these, his bared torso hanging over empty air. The lower half of his body was held with a combination of his natural strength, and the naked she-elf riding him. He spread his arms, and laughed in exhilaration. Kialandí began to ride him harder, her breasts bouncing up and down in time with the motions. Her moans became wild, and after a short amount of time, she had shifted from sexy to an animal, rutting hard with the man beneath her._

_Zeratide's own animal instincts, made stronger by his bond with Ammadden, forced him to sit up, making his already-taut core muscles burn. He shoved back on her, hard, and she smacked against the stone floor. Her eyes were feral, and she growled in lust as he began thrusting into her with an incredible pace. She screamed as she reached orgasm, and he grunted when his own came. Shooting line after line into her womb, he kept thrusting, until his rage began to subside, leaving him with a sense of shame._

"_This isn't right," he said, pulling out of her and standing. She gave him a strange look, before he sighed. "Us isn't right. When we first began this relationship, we were in love, Kialandí. But now you are an animal, and in order to love you, I must become an animal myself. I will not become feral, not even for you."_

_She rose swiftly, not bothering to cover up, and jammed her finger under his chin. "You listen here, Zeratide," she said, pressing against him. "As long as you live, you will never be rid of me if you do this. Your life will be haunted by me. You think you can do better than _this_?" she asked, grabbing his hand and pressing it to her breasts. "You'll never find a woman better than me."_

_Grabbing her wrist, he twisted her around, pressing her against the parapets. "You enjoy this kind of violence," he stated as she shivered beneath him, rubbing her thighs together. "I can't do this anymore, Kialandí. We're done." With that, he released her, and finished dressing, throwing the cloak over his shoulders. The trapdoor to the rest of the tower banged open, and he was gone._

* * *

As the memory faded away, Zeratide grit his teeth in anger. _Damn her… _he thought, his grip on the leather saddle tightening, making the leather straps actually creak. _A son, Ammadden. I have a son, and she hid this from me! Had I but known, I would have taken him away from that life, and raised him myself!_

_And you also would not have met Aelana. If you spent all your time with the child, you would not have saved her from Daeon, which means you would not have created that foundation for your relationship. You would not have trained to become the Leader of the Riders, and you likely would have died during the Fall. Kialandí was mad, Zeratide, and her oath came true; after all these years, you still torment yourself over the inconsequential mistakes of your youth. My sire did not have one son; he sired dozens of eggs over the course of his lifetime, with many different dams. I myself sired a small number of eggs before the Fall, though they were likely destroyed. We dragons have no issue with letting go of the past, Zeratide. Why should you?_

_I can't let go of the past, Ammadden. I just can't. My memories are what make me me. I know otherwise, but I feel that I was responsible for the Fall, and I have to try and make amends for that, which means I need to remember it all._

"Are you alright?" Denarius shouted over the wind. "You've been silent for some time."

"I'm fine," Zeratide shouted back curtly. "I was just talking to Ammadden. You know, I knew your mother before she was a Forsworn." Denarius looked surprised at that, but he remained silent, waiting for Zeratide continued. Taking a deep breath, he blurted out, "I believe I know who your father is as well."

"You know my father?" Denarius asked excitedly, his eyes burning with hope. "He's alive?"

"Oh yes," Zeratide said, his voice hard. "Your father is alive." Denarius looked at him curiously about his tone, before understanding dawned on his features. The young elf gazed hard at Zeratide's face, apparently trying to find the similarities between the two, and he rubbed his chin.

"You're my father," Denarius stated. Zeratide nodded, and his expression grew hard. "Why weren't you there? I needed to be raised in Ellesmera, by my father, not forced to hide and transform myself to be able to keep Galbatorix from discovering me. You bastard! You have wronged me, _father!_" he shouted, spitting out the last word as if it were a sour taste in his mouth.

Zeratide rose so swiftly in the saddle that Denarius scarcely had time to blink before an iron palm boxed him in the ear, nearly knocking him out of the saddle. Zeratide grabbed him roughly by the front of the tunic to keep him from falling, and brought his face an inch from his son's. "I never knew you existed, boy. Your mother was little more than a beast when I left her, and she kept your existence as much a secret from me as from herself. You think that, had I known, I would have left you there? I would have stormed Urû'baen alone to free you. You may not like me, but you will show me the proper respect." With that, Zeratide released him, and they continued in silence back to the Varden.

* * *

Aelana sat silently on a chair in the tent she shared with her husband, writing a romance novel about her and Zeratide. She sighed contentedly as she finished the thirteenth chapter, leaning back in her seat and stretching, her tunic pressing tight against her chest as she arched her spine.

_I think that we'll have to try a repeat of that Rimgar session we did years ago. _That_ was a real workout._ As she straightened in her seat, she felt Zeratide's mind press against her consciousness, and she immediately contacted him, letting her love and longing for his return reach him. She reeled back, however, when she felt the boiling tempest of fury stirring in his mind, more dangerous than a thousand roaring dragons.

_What's wrong?_ she asked him, trying to soothe him. A flash came to her; the infiltration of the Citadel of Urû'baen, a boy he had fenced, Kialandí, and guilt, but she was unable to make any sense of the disjointed flow, and she was more confused than before. She heard the distant boom of the landing dragons, and summoned Eragon's guards with a quick flick of her thoughts as she went out to meet her husband.

When she got there, she was surprised to see the young fencer from his memories dismounting Ammadden, glaring angrily at Zeratide as the elf offered to help him down. Zeratide's gaze met Aelana's, and anguish crossed his face, tears glistening in his eyes. He leapt down from Ammadden's saddle, and disappeared in shadow as she ran toward him. Worry gnawed at her chest, and she remembered the last and only time he had ever hidden from her; he had been forced to kill her cousin when the elf went mad and attempted to kill Vrael. For him to hide from her now… she took off after him, certain she knew where he was going.

* * *

Zeratide stalked angrily back and forth, atop the tower as he slowly attempted to rage his roaring thoughts. With each passing moment, however, his fury grew, until his hair was wild and his voice crazed. "Kialandí!" he screamed, raising his head to the sky. He received no anger, but he did not remain silent. Instead, his words came out in a strangled, furious song.

"Damn you!

You little prying Pandora!

You little Demon!

Is this what you want to see?

Curse you!

You little lying Delilah!

You little Viper!

Now I cannot ever be free!"

He turned, and hurled the rapier he had scrounged, the blade singing past Aelana and shattering against the stone. His nostrils flared, and he shook as she patiently began picking up the shards of steel. With a murmured spell, the steel flowed back together like water, before solidifying into an undamaged whole. Setting it softly against the parapet, she turned to face her mate, waiting until he calmed down a bit.

"What happened?" she asked him, striding forward to embrace him. He shrunk back from the contact, and retreated a number of steps, shaking his head. The expression on his face was one of such powerful self-loathing, she thought he might jump.

"How can you bear to look at me? How can you bear to touch me? I don't deserve you, Aelana. I don't deserve your love." Words flowed unbidden from his lips, and he relayed to her the story Denarius had told him, as well as the story of his ending his relationship with Kialandí atop Vroengard. "I have a son," he repeated, flopping down to the floor.

"And we have a daughter," she said, kneeling in front of him. Gently grasping his chin, she raised his face to meet her eyes. "Zeratide, when you made your intentions clear to me, I knew that you had been intimate with Kialandí. I knew that we would eventually be intimate together, and I prayed that we would have a child of our own. What Kialandí did to you in this instance is not your fault, and it is unforgivable. She paid the price for her sin when she died. Do not hold the sins of the mother against the son, and do not blame yourself for a circumstance you had no control over." She gently kissed his forehead, and he wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her shoulder. He wept openly, and she soothed him until they both fell into their trances.

* * *

In Eragon's tent, a very different scene was playing out. Saphira had to leave to hunt, as she had refrained from doing so while hiding so she could be prepared to rescue her Rider at a moment's notice. Arya had practically dragged him to their tent, and threw him on the cot before divulging him of his clothing. She had removed her trousers, fumbled with the knots of her tunic, and gave up trying to remove the garment before she had mounted him, and for several minutes all else had faded away. As she was in the middle of a very complex movement with her hips, however, the entrance flap to the tent ripped back, and Markos tottered in, an empty bottle of ale in one hand and his saber in the other. Arya screamed in shock, quickly tearing at the blanket to cover her lower half as Eragon swore, leaping to his feet. "Markos! What is the meaning of this?" he demanded, drawing Brisingr from its sheath. Blödhgarm's spell casters instantly swarmed the drunken elf, but he swung at them with his saber.

"My name is not Markos!" he bellowed drunkenly, hurling the mug at Blödhgarm in the hope of hurting the elf. Blödhgarm casually caught it out of the air, before setting it aside and taking up a defensive position in front of Eragon and Arya. "My name is Denarius, and I have come here to demand answers!"

"To what question?" Eragon demanded, pulling on his trousers.

"Not from you!" Denarius snapped, slashing his saber to the side to emphasize the point, before pointing it at Arya. "From her." His eyes narrowed slightly, and Eragon saw a lucid hatred in them that made him quickly step in front of his beloved. "From my _sister…_" he hissed, shocking those present. "Why, when my father lay with my mother, did he leave her? Why did he abandon me, yet remain with your mother and remain with _you_? He chose you, daughter of Aelana, and abandoned me, son of Kialandí!"

He advanced so quickly, Blödhgarm and Eragon were unaware he had passed them.

Arya, however, with decades of honed experience with her fighting style, the same he was using, had recognized the subtle forward momentum of his foot, and moved forward even as he did, tightening her grip on the blanket she covered herself with. Whipping the cloth forward, she twisted it as he made his stab, and caught the blade in a jumble of fabric. Using the leverage she now had on him, she yanked the cloth and blade skyward, before launching a debilitating kick aimed at the left side of his chest. He caught it in the crook of his arm, and turned the blade deflection into a pommel smash toward her temple.

By now, Blödhgarm and Eragon had realized that Denarius was no longer standing where he had been, and they turned, seeing his and Arya moving in a pattern of strikes, blocks, and dodges. To Eragon, there was something erotic about watching his mate fight semi-naked, but he quickly pushed the thought aside as he rushed to her aid. Recognizing that he was surrounded, Denarius released Arya, yanked his blade free, and leapt sideways, slicing open the side of the tent and escaping. The elves and Eragon began their chase while Arya pulled on her trousers. She quickly contacted her parents, and told them what was happening. _You have some explaining to do,_ she told him, before cutting off the link and giving chase to her brother, pausing to grab her sword.

As she exited the tent, she saw that Denarius had given up running a hundred yards away, and was squaring off with the elves and Eragon. He moved effortlessly through the elves, scoring a number of shallow cuts on the elves before Eragon locked blades with him, bellowing like a bull. She quickly ran to the point, crossing the distance in a few seconds, by which time Denarius had disengaged from Eragon and scored a gash across his thigh. As she saw his blood, her vision flashed red, and a burst of uncontrolled magic erupted from her, hurling everyone but her and her brother away. He stumbled back a few steps, before picking up one of the elven blades dropped by the spell casters.

They quickly engaged in a flash of steel. Arya swung her torso to the side as he slashed upward, and the edge of his blade caught the very tip of her shoulder, cutting off a paper-thin circle of skin the size of her thumbnail. A victorious expression crossed his features, but it faded quickly when her quick slash cut off the very tip of his right ear. He growled, before he created a web of steel in front of him in a seemingly random pattern that she knew was actually an iron defense. She retreated a step, breathing deeply through her nose, and waiting for the right time to attack. The other elves finally managed to pick themselves up, but they hung back, unable to assist her without worrying about possibly attacking her.

She feinted right, but Denarius ignored the move, obviously recognizing by her footwork that it was false. Aiming a stab at his throat, she stepped forward, and allowed his deflection to move her arm away, seeming to provide an opening. Rather than stabbing at her as she had thought he would, though, he jabbed forward with the heel of his palm, striking her in the nose. She shouted in surprise and pain, stumbling back and clutching her broken nose as blood poured out. As she glanced back, she saw Denarius leap forward, his blade descending faster than should be possible even for an elf. She closed her eyes, and waited for oblivion.

"Kveykva!"

Her eyes shot open as her father shot the spell into her brother's side, and her blood ran cold as she saw the livid fury in his gaze. The sleeve of his left arm was burned off by the power of the spell, and she saw dark, purple-black swirls on reaching up to his shoulder. They seemed to throb and spread further as he maintained the spell, until it reached to the side of his neck, the ends looking like gnarled, grasping fingers. He cut the spell, and strode over to Denarius as he slowly rose to his elbows and knees. A muttered spell from the Rider healed both his children, before he grabbed Denarius by the collar, raising him off the ground. Denarius glared directly into his father's eyes, before he ran his father through with his stolen blade.

Zeratide calmly looked at the sword sticking through his chest as Aelana screamed, and Arya let out a strangled noise of shock. The white-haired elf raised his gaze to meet Denarius', before he set him back down. "Leave him be," he said to those present, the blade still lodged in his chest. He turned his head back to face his son as blood leaked from the corner of his mouth. "I hope you have your peace with me now," he stated.

And he fell.

* * *

Well, there you go guys. I hope you liked it. Review so I know how I did.

-Zeratide, out.


	20. The Wheels Begin to Turn

Hey everyone! Well, I think a fair amount of people liked the last chapter. A quick head's up; the advice given to Zeratide was borrowed from Avatar: The Last Airbender. Without further ado, I present chapter 20 of Du Sundavar Freohr.

* * *

_Previously…_

_He turned his head back to face his son as blood leaked from the corner of his mouth. "I hope you have your peace with me now," he stated._

_And he fell._

* * *

_Everything and nothing. Darkness and light. To this world, Zeratide opened his eyes, and he sighed in minor annoyance. _I truly loathe this place,_ he thought to himself, opening his arms. White mist surrounded him, clothing his naked body in silken robes pure as snow. He blinked, and four people stood before him, all but one dressed in identical garb._

_Vrael stood taller and healthier than he had been when Zeratide last saw him. His black hair was smoothed back revealing his strong features and emerald eyes. The familiar, soul-piercing orbs were light with mirth, and the ghost of a laugh was carved across his strong mouth._

_Brom stood in a relaxed stance, one hand resting on his hip. Zeratide had never seen him with a beard, or aged so greatly, but he found that the look suited the Rider; Brom's appearance finally matched the knowledge and skill he possessed in life. A gnarled staff, carved with glyphs from the Liduen Kvaedhí was clutched in a knobby hand, and as he expected, Undbitr did not rest on the man's waist; rather, a simple steel sword rested in an unremarkable sheathe. The man's expression beneath the beard was indiscernible, but an amused twinkle resided in the deep blue eyes._

_Oromis stood also, noble as he had ever been. His silver mane fell to his waist, and he possessed the appearance of a sage of old, dignified and proud. An aquiline nose sat between two knowing eyes, and he peered at the young elf over it._

_The fourth and different person was bound in chains. Forced to kneel under the weight of the metal, naked under a knotted mane of filthy hair was Kialandí. She looked up at him, and he saw dark circles under her eyes. A short, pink tongue darted out of her mouth every few seconds, licking the corner of her lips in a mad tick she had picked up since last he saw her._

"_Vrael… Brom… Oromis… death has been kind to you all. I stand amongst the brightest minds of the Riders, and as always, I find myself to be… lacking." Turning to Kialandí, he grabbed the chains wrapped around her body, hauling her to eyelevel. "Death has not punished you enough, Kialandí. Last night, I raided Galbatorix's keep. I discovered a curious oddity; an elf, serving in the Army, who claimed to the son of Kialandí, begot by an unknown father. Upon further discovery, I found that he is mine own."_

"_I told you once that you would never be rid of me, Zeratide," she said, her tongue darting out, reminding him of a snake. She pressed her body against him, making sure to touch him with her bare breasts before continuing to speak. "I have to say, Denarius' conception was, by far, the best you have ever performed; far better than you have performed with your so-called mate." She gasped as he twisted the chains, tightening them around her neck. "I am already dead, you fool. There is nothing more you can do to me here."_

"_True. But it does _me_ good." Zeratide released her, before kicking her in the ribs. Turning back to his Masters, he bowed. "I beg your forgiveness, Ebrithilar. I had to confront her over the issue in order to have peace."_

"_You do not need to feel the grief and regret that plagues you," Vrael said, shaking his head. His mirthful expression had vanished replaced with one of disappointment. "I had thought that, as my apprentice, you would have learned that all you could do would suffice. You cannot control that which is beyond your ability! Did I teach you nothing?"_

"_My student, you were much the same when you were young," Oromis said to Vrael._

"_And my wife paid for my mistakes! It didn't matter that she was a Rider, it didn't matter that she was human instead of elf! Slaughtered she was, all for one Urgal's manhood! Had I acted and went with her, rather than wallowing in regret at home for something beyond my influence…." Turning back to Zeratide, he spoke one more time. "I offer you this wisdom, Zeratide: You must actively shape your own destiny, and the destiny of the world." With that, he faded away, taking Kialandí with him._

"_And I offer you this wisdom, Zeratide," Oromis said as he began to fade. "Selfless duty calls you to sacrifice your spiritual needs and do whatever it takes to protect the world."_

"_There will always be what ifs, and doubt in your life, Zeratide," Brom said, lifting his gaze from the gnarled staff. "You have been teaching my son, have you not? I can see it in your eyes. I fell in love with Morzan's wife, Selena. When I found out that Saphira's egg had been stolen, I left, without pausing to say goodbye, or ask her to come with me. If I had, then she may be alive today. It took me many years to realize that she would have done what she did anyway; she wanted our son to have the chance to live a normal life. Both of our decisions were finite, and I would believe that they have shaped the world." He began to fade, along with the world around him._

"_I offer you this wisdom, Zeratide: You must be decisive."_

* * *

Zeratide inhaled slowly through his nose as he returned to the world of the living. A great weight sat upon his chest, shuddering every few seconds, and he recognized it as Aelana's sobbing form. He kept his eyes closed and his breathing silent, waiting to see what events would unfold. He heard a light scuffle, before the unmistakable click of metal cuffs being locked echoed throughout the clearing. _Denarius is under arrest… Aelana is mourning my death, and Arya… I hear quiet sobs, muffled almost… crying into Eragon's shoulder? And what is that sound? Dripping, dripping, almost silent but enough to drive my senses crazy… someone is bleeding. Ammadden's steady breathing, cool night air… a few minutes have passed, maybe. And now… to act…_

* * *

Eragon watched silently, disbelieving as his guards conjured metal cuffs and bound Denarius. The eldest child of Zeratide remained silent, gazing silently at his father's corpse, and Eragon kept sending his mind at the body, hoping to find even the slightest hint of a consciousness. Failing to do so, and watching as blood pooled around the body on the ground, he silently came to the conclusion that his Master, omnipotent and omniscient as he seemed, was gone. As Arya cried softly into his shoulder, he gently pressed his lips into her hair, trying to offer her some small comfort.

"Do you now have your peace?"

Everyone froze, fearful and awestruck as Zeratide shifted out from underneath Aelana, and stood, his wound healing before their eyes. The purple, wraith-like flames extended a hairsbreadth, before coming to a rest just under the curve of his jaw and fading back into his skin.

"How?" Denarius whispered, his pupils contracted to barely-visible dots.

"You did what you wanted to do, and I slept the sleep of the dead, that I might gain insight. Brom sends his regards, by the way," he said to Eragon, watching the young man's jaw drop. "I have died twice in my life, boy; one at the hand of the mother, and again now at the hand of the son. I saw your mother in the afterlife, bound in chains and eternally punished for her evils. I would save you from that fate, if I could." With that, Zeratide turned and strode away, leaving behind those whom he had held so enthralled.

* * *

"I was wondering when you would come to me, my love."

Aelana stood silently in the entrance of the tent, silently rubbing her hands together as she thought of what to say. Before she could say anything, however, Zeratide rose and swept her into his embrace, pressing his lips against hers. She immediately and greedily responded, entwining her hands in his hair and leaping up, wrapping her legs around his waist. Carrying her over to the cot, he gently set her down, before removing his clothes. She was fast to imitate him, and as he removed the last of his clothes, she had shed her nightdress, revealing her nude form underneath. Sitting before her, he gently pressed his hand against her growing abdomen, which now extended a full inch and a half past its normal dimensions.

"The child will be strong," he whispered softly, bending over and kissing her abdomen. "Just like his mother…." At his words, Aelana gently pushed him onto his back, before leaning over him and pressing her breasts against his bare flesh. With one swift movement, they became one yet again, and together they allowed the rest of the night to disappear.

* * *

Several hours later, Aelana awoke to find Zeratide lying next to her, his arm resting underneath her head. She smiled, knowing that his arm must have gone numb, and he had refrained from moving it to avoid waking her. Night still held sway; crickets were chirping, and dawn's light was yet two hours off. Gently rolling onto her side, she threw one leg over him and rested her head on his broad chest, before wrapping his arm around her shoulders. Sighing contentedly, she nuzzled against him before she fell back to sleep.

* * *

Arya sat silently on the cot she and Eragon shared. Her lover lay beside her, fast asleep from sheer exhaustion. Gazing silently at the emerald egg, which Eragon had retrieved from Ammadden's saddlebags, she rose from the bed, throwing a nightgown over herself to shield her from the cold. Kneeling before the egg, she gently ran a hand over the veins, reveling in the smooth texture of the egg. Gently reaching her mind out to the dragon within, she sent soothing images and thoughts to the dragon, trying to make it happy. As she withdrew her mind, a fissure appeared in the surface of the egg, before it shattered, sending pieces flying everywhere.

"What the hell?" Eragon shouted as the explosion woke him. He got caught up in the blankets, and fell on the ground with a muffled thump, cursing as he attempted to get up. Arya stared dumbly at the hatchling shaking shell fragments off of himself, before Eragon finally freed himself and saw it. "You have to touch it, Arya," he said calmly, grasping her face with both hands so she would look him in the eye. "You are going to feel pain; you are going to feel pain the likes of which you have never felt before. In exchange, you will gain something that no words, nor images, nor emotions from another being can ever explain to you." She swallowed hard, and nodded, kissing him briefly before she tentatively reached out with her left hand to touch the dragon's brow. As Eragon said, white-hot pain consumed her, and she lost consciousness.

* * *

Denarius knelt quietly inside his cell, shivering slightly in the night air. The elves had tied a cloth around his eyes and secured it in place with a spell, blinding him to the world before they forced him to his knees and bound him in weighted chains, so heavy as to prevent any movement but those caused by his breath. Although unknown to him, he matched nearly perfectly the image of Kialandí's punishment.

The rusty hinges creaked as the door opened, and a cold draft fell on him as someone entered, before they closed the door. Denarius raised his head, sniffing gently as he tried to determine who it was by scent, like a wolf. His lips curled into a sneer as he smelled his father's trademark scent of wood and rosemary.

"My father taught me that the best meat was cooked on a wood fire, smoked and rubbed with rosemary. I'm not like other elves; I know that there is more beyond this life, and thus I willingly eat flesh. However, all the afterlives that could possibly exist would not be enough for me to make things right with you, my son."

"DON'T CALL ME THAT!" Denarius screamed, straining against the weight of his chains. "You do not have the right to call me your son! I grew up without a father, and I do not need one now! All that matters to me anymore in life is battle." He gasped as the weight of the chains disappeared, and the cloth vanished, leaving him unencumbered and able to see the silhouette of his father.

"Then I have some information you may be interested in. Galbatorix has created a new incarnation of the Forsworn; Thirteen Shades of the darkest powers. Whoever may slay these Shades shall gain eternal glory." Denarius' expression remained blank, but his mind was racing with the implications. "As you know, very few people have ever survived a fight with a Shade; four, to be exact. Two of them yet live, and one is my daughter. Surely you are a more capable warrior than your half-sister, begotten by a scoundrel and a tramp?"

"I know what you hope to gain here _father_; by your words, you hope to inspire me to fight beside you and forgive you for your transgressions."

"I no longer care what you think of me," Zeratide said, shifting slightly in the shadows. "A Master told me that selfless duty calls me to sacrifice my spiritual needs and do whatever it takes to protect the world. Therefore, I will no longer plague myself with the guilt and remorse you expect me to. Until this is over, I will not know peace. I will not know hesitance. I will fight, and I will win."

"Am I supposed to be in awe?" Denarius sneered, leaning casually against the wall. "You are far from inspiring. You believe that you could protect the world, yet you allowed The Fall to occur. You left a son to face the world alone, never thinking that there was even the slightest chance that a woman you had sex with multiple times just _might_ have conceived. And you know what?" Here, Denarius rose to his full height and stalked over to Zeratide, jamming a finger under his chin. "I could forgive you for all that, if you hadn't done it twice. _Twice, _Zeratide. You abandoned your son, and then you abandoned your daughter… I will fight the Shades with you Zeratide, but you had best make sure that while you block their blades, you keep your eye on mine."

* * *

Months flew by as Zeratide put each of the elves and Riders, especially his new-to-the-title daughter, through the ringer. Each day, at least one person received a broken bone. Zeratide would partially heal the injury, before having them continue, teaching them to fight with such handicaps. As the months flew by and the end of the ceasefire approached, the Varden became more active, preparing weapons that had for the most part remained idle while the soldiers had taken to farming to feed themselves. Elain gave birth to a daughter, and Katrina gave birth to her own healthy baby girl several months later.

One month before the end of the ceasefire, Zeratide sat upon the top of the tower in Feinster, looking out at the surrounding environs. Delving into his memories, he pictured the area as that of Urû'baen. The landscape morphed before his eyes, until he could see two armies clashing at the gates. Squatting on the stone, he looked around him, taking note of the size of the walls since he had seen them on the raid. _It would be easy to cause the shelf to fall on the city, but then it would kill hundreds of thousands of innocent lives… and it would destroy the city. The easiest thing to do would be to fly into the city and enter the castle before taking Galbatorix head-on…of course the guards would have to abandon Eragon, Murtagh, Arya and I in order to fight the Shades, and even then they will stand next to no chance. It's time I cast my spell; I must actively shape the world, even if doing so requires that I break my promise to Vrael…_

"Father! Father!" he heard someone yell, and he turned to see Arya and her dragon, Fírnen land behind him, the tower shaking as the dragon, albeit it small, touched down. "Mother's gone into labor!"

* * *

Denarius ran quickly across the training field, carrying Aelana in her arms as she screamed and bled. _Even if I can't stand her, no one deserves to go through this alone, _he thought, managing to stop her thrashing with the strength of his arms. Within a few seconds, they had reached Zeratide's tent, and he quickly pushed open the flap, before depositing her on the cot. "Blödhgarm!" he shouted, and the elf appeared before him. "Keep everyone out. If Zeratide and Arya arrive, tell them whatever you have to, but make sure no one else enters here!" As the elf left, Denarius turned back to Aelana, gently stroking her hair as she sweat and screamed with each contraction. "Shhh…" he whispered softly, holding her hand. "You're going to be alright."

"Why are you helping me?" she asked him with a hoarse voice as her face scrunched up in pain.

"Despite my disagreement with all of your family, I will not allow an innocent child to come to harm. I love new life even more than other elves do, and I would sooner die than allow you or the child to do so." Aelana screamed out then, and the rest of their conversation was lost as Denarius did what he could to help her.

* * *

Zeratide and Arya touched down a safe distance from his tent in order to make sure they wouldn't wind up knocking it down from the gust of the dragon's wings. Zeratide barreled forward toward the circle of elves in front of his tent as he heard Aelana scream. "Let me through!" he shouted as he got closer to the tent. To his confusion, Blödhgarm strode forward and bound him with a spell. "What treachery is this?" he demanded, before his mind was swarmed.

_Forgive me, but Denarius is the only one among us who has the necessary knowledge of the birthing process to assure that she survives. You must trust your son to assure your mate's survival, Ebrithil._

A single, ear-splitting shriek rent the air, and every elf shouted out in pain as their sensitive ears magnified the sound. Zeratide roared in anger, struggling like a bull before a different sound pierced their ears; the warbling cry of a newborn. Zeratide's entire posture relaxed, and Blödhgarm released him from the spell as Denarius came out. The elf's sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, and he was wiping blood and fluid off his forearms with a rag. Raising his eyes, Denarius met Zeratide's gaze, before his eyes softened slightly. "Go greet my half-sister, father," he said. As Zeratide moved past him, Denarius's eyes regained their shadowed quality, before he strode past the elves.

Arya stepped before him, causing everyone to pause. Tentatively, she wrapped her arms around her half-brother, whispering her thanks into his shoulder. She released him and he gave a curt nod, before walking away.

* * *

Zeratide sat in a chair next to the cot, Aelana's head resting in his lap while he held his daughter. _So beautiful, _he told Ammadden as he gently kissed the girl's forehead.

_You know now that you are going to have to do it._

_I was planning on doing so anyway. It's time; I will take the elves and the Riders to the Vault of Souls… even as Galbatorix revived the Forsworn, so too shall I revive the Grey Folk._

* * *

Ooh… did you see that coming? Review please.

-Zeratide.


	21. Grey Folk and the Rock of Kuthian

Hey everybody! Hope you liked the last chapter. Here's Chapter 21 of Du Sundavar Freohr.

* * *

_Previously…_

You know now that you are going to have to do it.

I was planning on doing so anyway. It's time; I will take the elves and the Riders to the Vault of Souls… even as Galbatorix revived the Forsworn, so too shall I revive the Grey Folk.

* * *

Zeratide stood before the assemblage of elves and Riders, pacing back and forth as he tried to figure out what to tell them. "As you know," he began, pausing in his motions, "the Grey Folk created magic as it is now known. They all died out shortly after. I intend to revive them, in a way." He began pacing again as the group began an uproar, shouting over each other. Finally, he raised his hand and silenced them. "Now, they will not be the Grey Folk who lived before time was recorded; instead, the new Grey Folk will be individuals who are changed into their race. What no one but the Leader of the Riders knew was that the Grey Folk were a combination of both dragons and Elves. The Fair Folk, as the elves are called, were a result of the Grey Folk intermingling with humans, breeding out the draconic aspect of their nature… what I intend to do is bond thirteen elves with the souls of dragons, via Eldunarya." Silence reined, and Zeratide breathed deeply through his nose, feeling the skeins of magic touching his words and erasing his short-term memory.

"Eragon, Murtagh, and Arya… you are to go to Vroengard, to the Rock of Kuthian, also known as Moraeta's Spire. Speak your names to open the Vault… there shall you find all that you seek…" He shook his head, and saw that the elves had a blank look on their face, while Eragon, Murtagh, and Arya had a confused look on theirs. "What did I say?" Zeratide asked, rubbing his eyes as a slight headache came on. "My memory is gone… a name stirs my mind, but it disappears so quickly…"

Eragon quickly relayed what happened, and Zeratide slowly nodded, rubbing his chin. "Obviously, I am not meant to go to… alas, it is gone again… go. While you are gone, I will use the Eldunarya that we raided from Urû'baen to create the Grey Folk." The three Riders bowed to him, before mounting their respective dragons and taking off, leaving Zeratide alone with the guards and his son. Breathing deeply through his nose, Zeratide beckoned them onward, and they followed him to the top of the tower.

"Form a circle," he ordered, and they formed around the edges. "Kneel." As they did so, Zeratide began murmuring softly under his breath in the Ancient Language, drawing forth thirteen Eldunarya from pocket space; one for each of Eragon's twelve guards, Aelana included, and one for Denarius. "Hold out your hands," he ordered, and as each elf did, he caused the Eldunari they would bond with to float into their hands. Once each was holding one of the glittering gems, he began chanting in a combination of the Ancient Language, and a harsh, guttural tongue unknown to any but he. The gems began to glow, and each elf stiffened as they felt their minds being merged with those of the dragons in their hands. As he reached one of the many apexes of the chant, the Eldunarya began vibrating, building up heat and energy. The elves cried out in pain as the heat was transferred into their skin, but Zeratide continued with the rhythmic chanting. Reaching out with his mind, he spoke to each.

_You will suffer during this transformation. The pain will be eased soon, but it will recommence shortly after. I will absorb some of your pain and spread it throughout the general populace of ten miles; they will feel little more than if they woke up slightly sore. You must feel __**some**__ pain, however; it will further the bond you will create with the dragons, and increase your strength once you are of the Grey Folk… truly, I am sorry._ With that, Zeratide continued his spell, and time faded away in a blur of agony and magic.

* * *

Eragon and Murtagh kept a stream of mental conversation going during their flight to Vroengard, and Eragon maintained an additional, private, conversation with Arya. Ever since his training with Zeratide, his mind had changed, for the better; he was now extremely adept at breaking and securing minds, as well as maintaining difficult mental tasks simultaneously without even batting an eyelash. Indeed, in addition to his conversations with Arya and Murtagh, he kept close mental link with Saphira, their separate minds blurring in and out of one cohesive consciousness. Every now and then, her vision overlapped his, causing him to see different thermals and cloud patterns invisible to human eyes. After a while, he experimented with causing his own vision to mimic the acuity of her eyes, and grinned as he successfully managed to cause his eyes to take on her sharpness and color scheme. It took him a few minutes to get used to the different colors, but once he had, he found the experience to be quite enjoyable.

_Eragon! _Murtagh and Arya shouted to him mentally, and he started as he realized that he had shifted his focus completely to his experiment, forgetting his conversations. A sheepish expression crossed his features, and he resumed his link, though this time the three of them were all in the same conversation.

_What do you think we will find when we reach the Vault of Souls?_ Arya asked as Fírnen winged to a particularly strong thermal rising from the sea beneath them. _According to what you told me, Eragon, you have mentioned the Rock of Kuthian to me before, and like with my father and the others, the name slid from my mind. But now it sticks firmly, and I wonder at the implications._

_Whatever Solembum's prophecy entails, _Eragon began, _it now includes you. I have already fulfilled one half of his prophecy; I found the brightsteel hidden beneath the roots of the Menoa Tree, and used it to make my sword._ Once again, he was forced to refrain from even thinking the name of the sword, as it would burst into flames. _I was expected to go alone, I believe, to find whatever source of power is hidden in the Rock. But for all his powers of foresight, I cannot imagine that even Solembum could have known that Zeratide survived the Fall. If he had, then he might have predicted a different outcome to this. As it is, I have a few theories as to what we may find there. The name itself hints at a startling truth; I believe that we will find Eldunarya within the Vault._

_I suppose it __**would **__make sense, _Murtagh replied thoughtfully. _Galbatorix was always disappointed that, out of the thousands of dragons bonded to Riders, and the many wild dragons aside, he found such a relatively small number of Eldunarya. He assumed that the rest were destroyed with the respective dragons' actual bodies, but it would make sense that a number escaped his detection. The question, however, if it proves to be Eldunarya, is how they managed to hide themselves from Galbatorix for so long; nay, how they managed to hide __**at all**__._

_Dragon magic is different than that of the other sentient races,_ Arya said simply. _Do not forget, it was they who performed the Banishing of the Names. If they could tear away the true name of thirteen dragons, it would be no great feat to hide themselves from one man, even if he were assisted by hundreds of Eldunari. The theory of hidden Eldunarya is certainly of intrigue. Dragon souls or not, we will discover what is waiting for us soon._ With that, the rest of the trip passed in uncertain silence.

* * *

Denarius slowly opened his eyes, his head throbbing and spinning after the transformation he had gone through. Breathing deeply, he shook his head as his vision shifted colors; first red, then blue, and finally taking on its normal proportions, though much sharper and more detailed. The stone of the tower was cool against his bare shoulder, and he pressed a hand to the stone to push himself up onto all fours. He paused, and observed his hand. The skin had turned a shade of gray that, while obviously alive, made him appear a centuries-old corpse. It was not feeble, however; as his eyes roamed up his arms, he found that the muscles had expanded. His tunic had split at the seams, and as he rose to his full height it fell off of him, revealing a greatly muscled torso. Eyes widening, he looked down toward his feet, and found that he had also grown a solid foot; he towered over even his father now, who was kneeling and panting against the stone, murmuring under his breath.

Denarius turned and observed each individual elf as they rose. Similar transformations had occurred in each of them; as the men rose, they marveled at their expanded muscular structures. The women had undergone their own transformation; their hips had widened, their thighs and buttocks had thickened, and their breasts had expanded to match those of even the most buxom barmaid. Each man and woman was terribly beautiful, and as their minds connected, he sensed a vast difference from a regular Elven mind.

"Never again can I touch your minds as I am," Zeratide said, rubbing his eyes. "More than a few seconds, during which anyone would know to exit your mind immediately, and I would feel my mind shatter. Even if I were a Shade, a great deal of damage would be done." Zeratide looked around at each of them as he rose to his full height, having to look up to stare his mate in the eye. Denarius saw a glint appear in the man's eyes, before Zeratide spread his arms to the side. Five Eldunarya appeared in front of him, hovering in a straight line, before they formed a circle around him, spinning. "The possibilities…" he murmured, his hair whipping to and fro in the wind created by the whirring gems. "All of this _power_…" The curse on his body flared up, creating the purple, wraith-like flames. "With this, I could break the curse Kialandí has placed on me."

Denarius shot forward, reaching out to pull his father out of the circle, but he was too slow. The Eldunarya shot into his body, disappearing upon impact, and a large burst of light blinded the young past-elf, causing him to halt and shield his eyes. Slowly, ever so slowly, he moved forward, one step at a time, until he reached out and grabbed his father. Light poured from the man's eyes and mouth, and Denarius forced his mind into Zeratide's, finding the elf locked in a mental battle between the minds of the five mad Eldunarya. Denarius added his own strength to the fray, and several moments later, Ammadden joined his mind with Zeratide's. Together, they completely overwhelmed the attackers.

Once more, Zeratide went through his process; he spread the pain throughout the people, while enduring most of it himself; this time, however, the process took a few minutes, rather than the hours it had taken when he was focusing on causing thirteen people to go through the transformation. Once turned, he rose to his full height, matching those of his fellow Gray Folk now. "We are done now," Zeratide said as he observed his changes with a critical eye. "Go and do as you wish…" The others bowed to him, and took their leave, save Aelana.

"Shall we see what pleasures these new bodies can provide?" she asked, shrugging out of her now-skintight tunic. Zeratide grinned, before launching forward and grabbing her. They both gasped as Zeratide thrust into her, and he took her then and there on the tower's stones.

* * *

Nasuada sat at her desk in her command tent, listening to the chirping grasshoppers and cicadas. The ceasefire would end in one month's time, so she was going over the necessary documents to assure the army would be ready to move toward Urû'baen in two days. _The conflict ensues the day after, _she thought as she signed another stack of requisition orders. _Galbatorix expects us at his gates on that day to finish this. If we aren't there, then we will be made to appear cowards. I think that if we were to arrive early, however… we would just be able to sit in front of his gate and he would be unable to attack us and keep loyalty, however small, amongst his own troops. But just how early? Not a week; we would starve ourselves. A day or two would be feasible. It would take us approximately three weeks to get our entire force to Urû'baen, so if we leave in two days, we should just make it._

As she finished her paperwork, Elva appeared from one of her many hiding places in the tent. The young girl spooked the woman, though Nasuada quickly regained her composure as the girl crossed the tent, picking up a bucket. Nasuada gave her a curious look, before a sudden wave of nausea overcame her just as the girl brought the object to her. Grabbing the rim with a steel grip, the Queen of the Varden proceeded to empty her stomach into the little wooden bucket, undignified and uncaring. "Thank you," she managed to gasp between heaves. Elva nodded, before lifting her small form into one of the high-backed chairs permeating the tent, swinging her short legs several inches off the ground.

"You will have to tell him sooner or later," Elva said simply, pulling a loaf of bread from somewhere and proceeding to eat. "He _will_ figure it out eventually."

"I'll tell Murtagh when he returns from wherever that blasted Zeratide has sent him now," Nasuada said, frowning as she mentioned the white-haired… well, he wasn't technically an elf anymore, was he? Ever since he had buckled down on training Eragon, Murtagh, Arya, and the other elves, the man had been insufferable to work around. He had booked needed training fields for such trivial things as mental combat, which mainly consisted of them staring in the exact same spot, unmoving, for great lengths of time. During that time, dozens of her men could have practiced. Aside from that, his grueling training regimen meant that she and Murtagh got to spend little time together.

Her cheeks reddened slightly as she thought of the Red Rider, and her hand absently fell to her abdomen. They had become lovers over the months, and several weeks ago he had proposed to her. After her excited acceptance, he had taken her, hard and fast. A shiver went down her spine as she thought of his hot breath coursing down her neck, before she shook her head, clearing her mind. Once more, her hand fell to her abdomen, gently stroking the area in soft circles.

She was pregnant.

* * *

The three Riders and their dragons touched down relatively silent on Vroengard, observing the once-great city that had housed the Riders. Enormous, overgrown structures permeated the great bowl formed by the surrounding mountains; the buildings were so large that Glaedr could have flown lazily through them, large as he was on the day of his "death".

_You must cast a spell, all of you, _the golden dragon had told them before landing. _The air is poisonous, and will cause you to die a slow and painful death._ They had tried to coax more information from him, but the old dragon had remained silent. Eragon would have sworn that, had Glaedr still had the necessary features, he would have been giving them a knowing grin. Now that he could see the beauty of the place, he understood.

In the distance, he could see that top of a large stone spire, which he somehow knew to be his destination. Pointing out the structure to Murtagh and Arya, they began walking toward it, discussing dozens of theories as to what lay before them. After an hour or so, they finally made it to the clearing, staring up at the jagged stone pillar before them.

"It looks like we're going to have to speak our true names to open it," Eragon stated after reading the inscription. "We could very well be walking to our deaths."

"Perhaps," Arya said, gently grasping his hand. "But we walk together."

_That's probably a bit of an exaggeration, _Saphira told them. _At most, we walk into a trap. I very much doubt that it would result in our deaths._

_Be that as it may, a hunter must always be cautious, _Fírnen replied. _Break a wing trying to fly through the forest and you may find that you become the prey._

_Enough of riddles and word games, _Thorn exclaimed, bugling. _I ache to solve this mystery! Trap or not, let us move! _With that, he roared out his new true name, the words glowing on the stone as he said them. Murtagh followed afterwards, before Arya, Eragon, Saphira, and Fírnen spoke their own true names, which they had learned completely during Zeratide's training regime. The stone glowed brightly for a full minute, blinding all those present, before the light disappeared, revealing a dark tunnel set into the rock.

Breathing deeply, the six of them slowly strode into the deep, oppressing darkness.

* * *

Review and tell me how I did.

-Zeratide, out.


End file.
